Whatever Days May Come
by WildArm
Summary: Bill Overbeck endured the jungles of Vietnam. He endured his retirement from service. And now, he is going to have to endure Hell on earth. He was always a leader, and although his new squad may not be what he's used to, he'll have to make do. COMPLETE!
1. Outbreak

Whatever Days May Come

Written by: WildArm

_But I, being poor, have only my dreams;  
I have spread my dreams under your feet,  
Tread softly because you tread on my dreams_

_W.B. Yeats_

I

Outbreak

Bill remembered the jungles of Vietnam, the constant crawling, shooting, killing, screaming—what was it all for? Looking back on it, he realized that life on the battlefield in those dark jungles was like taking a stroll out in Heaven compared to the madness and Hell that was going on around him. He'd give anything to be out there again with his men, fighting for God and for country. He'd give anything to not be here, to not be on the streets that were once his own, killing those he once called his friends, his enemies…

His family.

The infection arrived two weeks ago; two constant weeks of mayhem, looting, killing, and cannibalism have taken their toll on him. There were things Bill has seen throughout his life in the service— human beings doing dreadful things to other human beings—but not this. He thought that he'd eventually get used to seeing that kind of madness, but realized the moment he _did_ get used to seeing what's been going on would be the first sign of insanity.

But he had to hold it together, if not for his sake, then for the three others he took under his charge. There was the ever-wild Francis, a member of the Hell's Legion biker gang who emerged as the sole survivor of his group. Bill got the sense that Francis was the loner type, living every minute like it was his last, and the man could certainly take care of himself without the help of the others, but during the course of their time together, Bill had convinced him to stick around, as there are types of infected that may require more than one pair of hands to kill. There was Louis: a nervous, weak-willed man who they had met earlier in the day. Although not the soldier Bill wanted to see when he first met the man, he realized that he could use all the hands he can get, and he'd have wait and see if the hysterical Junior Analyst will harden and eventually turn into the soldier Bill needed. And lastly, there was Zoey, an over-enthusiastic college student Bill found at the university dormitory holed inside her barricaded room. Bill was astonished when he saw Zoey in action for the first time; she could certainly hold her own in the face of adversity.

And aside from their obvious differences and their personalities, Bill would have to make due with what he had. Sergeant William Overbeck was a well-decorated officer in the United States Army, a former Green Beret who was a member of the 1st Special Forces Group, a soldier who had to turn his rifle in for a pink slip and a handshake when wounds sustained in the field were too much for him to continue his duty.

And he was also the man who could not wait to jump on the opportunity to wear his uniform once more, a uniform he considered to be his actual skin, a uniform he hoped he'd die in and be buried with.

"Bill," Francis said, looking over at him. "Your watch is over. My turn."

Bill shook his head, knocking himself out of the funk he was in, and nodded. "Is it that time already?" he asked.

"'Fraid so," Francis muttered, making sure his Benelli shotgun was fully loaded, and yawned as lowly as he could. "I hate bein' on watch."

Bill cracked a smile and pulled a cigarette out of the pack in his shirt pocket and pressed it to his lips. He lifted the pack towards Francis, who shook his head and said, "I hate cigarettes."

"Suit yourself," Bill said, lighting the cigarette. Francis yawned once more and sat down on a wooden crate beside him. The survivors were in an abandoned warehouse they stumbled upon earlier in the day. Once inside, they met with little resistance and found an attic they could easily gain access to. So far, they were catching up on some much needed sleep, and they'd take what they could get for the time being. Fortunately for them, there was also some salvageable food left in the kitchen: some pieces of bread that were as hard as rocks, as well as some peanut butter and some cans of cola. "Better than nothin'," Bill remembered Francis saying, ripping the bread in half and taking a celebratory bite, hearing his teeth snap as he tore into it.

"Ain't ya gonna sleep, old man?" Francis asked, eyeing Bill's cigarette ashes falling to the wooden floor. "We're gonna be in this attic for a while, so I think you should relax your seasoned bones."

"Too many nightmares," Bill said plainly, taking out his M1911 handgun and playing with the magazine. "Every time I close my eyes, I see her, Francis. Figure the less sleep I get, the less I'll see her."

"Ah, the wife," Francis said plainly, glancing over to look at Zoey fast asleep with her own handgun in her hands. "Yeah, I don't blame ya, old man."

"I just wish things were different, you know? I play it over and over again in my mind, take by take, wondering if I did everything I could at that moment, wondering if there was anything that I could have done to make things different. If things were different, then who knows? Maybe Beatrice would be with us right now."

"Forget all that, old man. The main difference here is that the four of us are all immune to the virus, and your old lady wasn't. Even if we managed to get her this far, there's no telling how long she would've lasted. All it woulda taken was one single scratch and it woulda been over for her. So don't be too hard on yourself."

Bill remained silent, taking a slow puff of his now finished cigarette and let it fall to the floor before he put his boot over it. No matter how much of an asshole Francis came off as, he was right in every way. Regardless of circumstance or things being different, Beatrice had a very high chance of succumbing to this virus sooner or later. It was just unfortunate that the "sooner" part came first.

"And besides, if you woulda acted differently, you wouldn't be here neither."

"Dying is the easy part, Francis," Bill said. "It's staying alive that's the hard part. There were so many times when I wanted to just throw myself into the middle of a horde and let them take me, but knowing full well that Beatrice would have been disappointed in me stopped me so many times before. She's the one who's been saving me all this time."

"Cut the horseshit, Bill," Francis said. "The only reason you're still here is because you know how to use a gun. And the only reason I'm still here is because I'd rather be with someone else who knows how to use a gun than out there on my own, ready and willing to get my ass turned inside-out by a Hunter, or get my neck snapped by a damn Smoker."

Bill grinned and nodded his head, lying down on the wooden floor and lowering his beret over his eyes. "You're a real class act, Francis," he said, letting out a low yawn and closing his eyes. "Real class act."

_{break}_

It's been several hours since the news spoke about a mysterious virus spreading throughout the city. Detailed accounts of survivors spoke about loved ones who were attacked and killed by others, only to rise up and attack others themselves. Something about it seemed like a very scary horror movie to Bill, and he wasn't about to take his chances in being unprepared for the attack to come. The news showed the routes leading outside of the city being barricaded, as the entire city was quarantined, leaving the citizens to act as their own kind of justice, as well as leaving them to act unruly and chaotic.

"Bill, where are you, honey?" he heard his wife call out.

"I'm in the den," he called back, lifting up a dusty metal box and blowing the dust off of it. He unfastened the clips attached and lifted up an M1911 .45 handgun he had bought some years back when he had to retire from the service.

Not just one, but two.

"What are you doing in here, hon?" his wife, Beatrice, asked, glancing at the handgun in Bill's hand. He was also wearing his uniformed boots, pants, shirt, and beret. This wasn't the first time Bill had done this in the midst of a crisis; the last time he wore his full uniform was on 9/11. "Oh, Bill," she said, disappointed. "No. We spoke about this."

"Bea, there's something going on and I want us to be ready for whatever is going to hit us. I'm not going to be like those saps on the news, waiting to get attacked and do nothing about it. I've never been like that."

"Oh, for Christ's sake, Bill!" she exclaimed. "There's nothing happening that we need to worry about. The news said that the people who were sick were brought to the hospital and are getting treated. The reason they barricaded the city is so it doesn't spread to any other place. Besides, they said it's transferable in direct contact, and look at us. Am I sick? Are you? No."

Beatrice was usually the voice of reason in Bill's clouded mind, but for some reason, he didn't want to take his chances this time. He had stored these weapons away so he might give them to his child someday, but seeing as though their son was living his own life down south, these weapons were cast aside, forgotten, serving no purpose other than to collect dust.

Bea had endured years of Bill's nightmares, years of talking in his sleep, commanding men who were long dead and waking up in a cold sweat, screaming, sometimes crying. It had all taken its toll on the woman, and she was glad when he finally cast his weapons and uniform aside and began to live his own life. But much to her dismay, Bill was always a soldier; it was something she knew he could never get out of his system.

"I don't care if we're not sick, Bea. I want to be ready. Television says that if these things bite you, you get sick, too. I don't know about you, but its better safe than sorry for me, Bea." He reached over in his toolkit and pulled out a rusted machete, which still had some sharpness to it. It was a perfect thing to hold on to in case he ever ran out of bullets. "Now go along back in the house, Bea. I'll be right there."

Beatrice stood with her arms folded, looking at him. When she sighed and turned her head to the house, she saw two men flailing about on her front lawn. "Bill?" she called. "There are some men on our lawn."

Bill put one of the .45 in the back of his pants and held the other .45 in his hand, along with the machete in his other hand. He brushed past Beatrice and called out to the men, who merely looked up at him and proceeded to run toward him.

"What the hell?" Bill yelled, seeing that the first man approaching him was missing half his face, and that the second man was missing his arm.

He raised his .45.

"You fellas need to stay where you are or I'll shoot!" When Bill didn't get a response, he fired his .45 into the chest of the first man and shot the leg of the second man. _Idiots_, he thought, watching the second man squirm on the floor, making his way back onto his feet. He let out an inhuman shriek and ran towards Bill once more, who shot him in the head without remorse.

"Is the other one dead, Bill?" Beatrice asked, referring to the first man Bill had shot.

Bill walked over to the man who was shot in the chest, kicked his leg lightly for any signs of movement, and turned to face Beatrice. "It looks like it."

"Bill!" Beatrice yelled, pointing.

Bill turned around and saw the man standing face-to-face with him, his breath reeking of God knows what. "What in God's name…?" Bill began to say, getting knocked down to the ground by the man, the two rolling onto one another, Bill's .45 getting knocked to his side. Bill shuffled his body to look at the man, who bared his teeth and went to bite Bill.

_Just like the television said they would_, Bill thought, looking to his side, the .45 just within reach of his hands. He held the man by the neck as he continued to snap, and in a quick motion, Bill grabbed the .45 and pointed it to the man's chin, aiming up and firing once, watching the exit wound erupt at the top of the man's skull.

The man closed his eyes and rolled to Bill's side; he needed a moment to catch his breath. In a moment, Beatrice came running over to him. "Bill, are you okay?" she asked. "Are you hurt? Did he bite you?"

"Yes, no, and no, Bea," Bill answered, getting to his feet and looking at the two dead men by his feet. "But do you believe me now? Something is going on here, and we need to get back in the house and barricade it."

Beatrice nodded her head. "I'm sorry I doubted you, Bill," she said, feeling wounded. Her annoyance in him always wanting to be the soldier had almost got him killed.

"You never have to be sorry to me, Bea," he said to reassure her. "But we need to get going. Now."

Bill and Beatrice ran into their home, shut the door behind them, and locked it. Beatrice ran toward the front door and locked it as well, followed by locking all the windows and shutting the drapes.

After a few minutes in silence and occasionally shooting glances outside the house, Bill knew that they couldn't stay long in their home and stay safe at the same time. They had the option of either shutting themselves in and waiting this out, hopeful that those things outside don't wise up and break into their house, or pile into the car and make a run for it.

Bill would rather make a run for it.

When he was about to tell Beatrice his plan, the phone began to ring. Beatrice ran over to it and pressed it to her ear. On the other end was their next door neighbor, Dorothy, who was also in her home hiding out from those things. It was too bad that she didn't have as much luck as Bill or Beatrice.

_"Bea, I'm in the house. There's a man outside who's hammering on the door. He was chasing me in the yard and I managed to get inside before he got to me. I'm scared, Bea! I'm really scared!"_

"We'll be right over!" Beatrice yelled into the phone, hearing a loud crash and the line go dead. She immediately unlocked the back door and ran outside, running to the back of Dorothy's home.

"Damn it, Bea, get back here!" Bill called out, his .45 gripped in his hands, keeping his eyes peeled in case any more of them decided to show up.

"Dorothy is in trouble!" she shouted back. "You heard her, Bill! She said someone's in her home chasing after her. You expect us not to help?"

Bill was never one to leave someone else behind. Just the thought of Dorothy flailing about while someone is tearing her to shreds threw gasoline on the fire under his ass.

The back door of Dorothy's home was ripped off its hinges, but there was not a sound to be heard, not a breath stirring aside from Bill and Beatrice. Bill saw the bloodstained carpet, which lead a trail of blood to the top of stairs. Bill pressed a finger to his lips to silence Beatrice, who shook violently; he didn't want to startle any unwelcomed company.

The trail of blood ended at Dorothy's bedroom. Bill turned to Beatrice and asked her to stay put. And when Bill walked into the bedroom, he saw the carnage. A man who looked to be in his thirties was hunched over a woman, his hands bloodied, peeling a piece of flesh and devouring it that instant. Bill took aim and was about to pull the trigger when he saw the leg of the woman move, and heard her moan.

It was Dorothy. And she was still alive.

"Bill…" she called out, reaching her hand to him. "Help me…"

The man on top of Dorothy abruptly turned his head and, seeing Bill, let out an inhuman shriek and jumped to his feet only to be greeted by a bullet to the forehead, the man stumbling and falling a foot or so away from Dorothy.

"Bill!" Beatrice yelled, peeking her head into the bedroom. Her eyes grew wide, her mouth open. She let out a scream that nearly popped Bill's eardrums.

Bill put his hand over her mouth. "Shut up!" he quietly yelled. "You want more of these things to know where we are? Now, I'm gonna take my hand off your mouth, Bea. Don't scream, okay?"

She muffled a "yes" and nodded her head. And when Bill took his hand off her mouth, her eyes broke into tears as she saw Dorothy sprawled out on the floor, her guts spilling onto the carpeted floor; the zombified man had been blocking her view to the carnage.

She was dead.

"Bea, I want you to wait outside, okay?" he said, nodding to her. He had to do what he had to do, what the television said to do in this circumstance.

Beatrice nodded her head, sniffled away the tears, and waited just outside the door. Bill took out his rusted machete and stood over Dorothy's corpse. "I'm sorry," he said softly, striking down, the machete connecting with Dorothy's neck, severing her head from her shoulders. He then grabbed the bed sheet on the bed and covered her body with it.

Beatrice was standing outside and clung to him as he left Dorothy's bedroom. "I'm sorry, Bea," he said, petting the hair on the back of her head. "We have to get going now, sweetheart. We don't have much time. Who knows if they heard the gunshot or not."

Beatrice pulled away from him and wiped her eyes. "Let's not stick around to find out." Bill had to give it to her; she was really trying to be strong for him. She knew he appreciated it; he didn't need to have the only person he was with to break down now, especially when he could use all the help he could get.

Bill held Beatrice's hand as he made his way back towards the steps, glancing down to make sure none of those infected managed to get inside the house, and descended the stairs. "Now," Bill began, whispering, "when we get to the outside of the house, I want you to run to the car as fast as you can. I'll watch you get in before I do. Do you understand?"

Beatrice nodded her head, and when they made their way downstairs, Bill yanked the door wide open and watched Beatrice take off in the direction of their minivan, mere feet away. Three of those wandering infected ran towards Beatrice, who were immediately shot down by Bill.

When he saw that Beatrice was safely in the minivan, Bill ran as fast as he could, but the fastest he could conjure was a fast limp, as his leg never fully recovered after his tour in Vietnam. He yanked open the front door seat, the back of his shirt getting tugged on by one of the infected. He kicked back, the infected wretching backward, and piled into the minivan, Beatrice slamming down on the accelerator. Bill took a glance back at the countless infected that were still on their heels despite being in a vehicle.

"Jesus, don't these things ever give up?" Bill asked, reloading his .45 and glancing over at Beatrice, who looked like Hell. "Don't you worry about a thing, Bea. Everything is gonna be all right, hon."

"Dorothy is dead, Bill," she said tearfully. "You just _killed _people. What can possibly happen that will make it all right, Bill? Can you please tell me?"

Bill sighed and took a cigarette outside of his pocket and lit it. "Bill, you know I hate it when you smoke!"

"The end of the world is happening before our very eyes and you're concerned with me smoking a cigarette? You're a nervous wreck half the time and I need this to settle my nerves, to keep me focused. I'm not going to stop now because you don't like the smell."

Beatrice slammed on the brakes and gave a look that could have killed Bill right there and then. "Put out the cigarette, William."

_Oh, geez_, he thought. The only time she used his real name was when she was very mad at him. Despite this end of the world business, Beatrice was still his wife and wasn't about to be shoved around by him.

He pried the cigarette from his mouth and lowered the window a creak and threw it outside. She then continued to drive. Bill saw all the homes of the neighborhood he was in with smashed windows, doors, bloodstains on the grass and the concrete. Some people were even running away from the infected at that moment, screaming their heads off.

"Can't we do anything for them, Bill?" Beatrice asked.

"I'm afraid not," Bill said, shaking his head. "The second we leave this van, they'll take it from us and leave us stranded. Either that or get attacked as soon as we get out."

"So what do you want me to do?"

"Just keep driving, Bea. Let's keep our eyes peeled for any military stations they have posted around town. Maybe we can get a little more information from them about how to stay safe."

The minutes slowly turned into hours, and Bill saw the transformation from day to night, saw the transformation of his once flourished city to the pile of ruins it was now. Not since 'Nam has he heard so many screams, gunshots, blood, and death. Not since those days in the hot jungle with the blood of his men on his uniform had he seen such carnage. How could this happen to the world?

The minivan sputtered once or twice before stopping completely. Bill glanced over at Beatrice, who said simply, "Ran out of gas."

"Shit," Bill replied, opening the car door and overlooking his surroundings. "Okay, Bea, we need to get out of here and find some shelter. Maybe there's a military station somewhere nearby." From what the news said, they stated that the military was already stationed at different checkpoints, but he has yet to see any, and they've been driving for hours now.

_Bang! Bang!_ Gunshots right down the block. "Come on!" Bill called out to Beatrice, who got out of the car and walked over to Bill before the two set off down the block. The shots came from a police station up the block, where the gunshots had faded. _Were there cops still alive_? Bill thought, walking into the station.

A dead cop right at the entrance changed his answer right away. And right by the officer's hands was a pump-action shotgun.

"Thank God," Bill muttered, noticing that the shotgun was fully loaded, and cocked it immediately.

When he motioned for Beatrice to get behind him, he slowly walked down the hallway, careful not to make too much noise. When he heard another gunshot, he jumped, aiming the shotgun in the direction of the blast. It was either a lunatic with a gun who was trigger happy or a cop.

Bill prayed it was a cop.

What rounded the corner was a tall man with a shaved head and a goatee who had tattoos covering both his arms, among them a big patch of artwork that read "Hell's Legion". He looked over at Bill with cold, stone eyes and pointed the shotgun at him.

"What are you looking at, Gramps?" the tattooed man said, grinning from ear to ear. "Can't you see we're in the middle of a crisis?"

_{break}_

_For the sake of my wife by my side, I didn't fire my shotgun at this rude man. There was something in his eyes I felt I could trust, though I knew he was as wild as an aminal in the woods. But with all the shit that was surrounding us, who knew what potential alliance this man and I could form to comb through the city and find more survivors to increase our numbers. I still watch this man to this day, never knowing what he might say or do next; he's as unpredictable as they come._

_- Sergeant William Overbeck, United States Army (Ret.)_

_{break}_

Author's Note: There's the first chapter to what I hope will be a long story in the Left 4 Dead universe. I'm thankful to all those who read, and will appreciate it if you review my work should you decide to read it. Seeing reviews from those who read the story and want to read more will prompt me to write that much quicker.

Take care, guys! Look for an update soon.


	2. Wild Hog

II

Wild Hog

Bill and the Tattooed Man eyed each other, neither of them letting their grips loose on their shotguns, the Tattooed Man's face never losing that grin he sported, which made Bill all the more nervous for Beatrice's sake.

"What are we gonna do, old man?" the Tattooed Man asked, his grin now erupting into a smile. "If you want to make this a problem, I can solve it. You won't be the first _live_ person I've run through today, and I'm sure you won't be the last. But I'd just hate to waste a helpless old man like you and leave your old lady hanging for those fuckin' things outside to eat."

"If you think you're scaring me, son, you better take another step back," Bill warned, cocking his shotgun and advancing on the Tattooed Man. "Now I'm not gonna assume that you're the one who killed all the men in here, but it sure as hell _is_ crossing my mind."

Without warning, Bill fired a shot toward the Tattooed Man that made him flinch. When the sound dissipated, the infected that was sneaking behind the Tattooed Man sunk to her knees and collapsed right by his feet, a large hole appearing in the middle of her chest.

Relieved, the Tattooed Man dropped his guard and lowered his shotgun. "You're all right, old man," he said. "You sure as hell didn't steal those clothes you're wearin' from an Army & Navy store. What are you, Army?"

"It doesn't matter what I am," Bill answered, his focus still aimed at the man as he watched him lower his shotgun and put his hands in the air.

"Take it easy, Gramps. Name's Francis. And I know I may look like trouble, and yeah, I _was_ brought here wearin' handcuffs, and _yes_, I _did_ kill most of the cops in here, but only after they became crazy like all those other bastards out there. I wasn't about to get my ass torn to shreds for the sake of being moral."

"Well, I can't argue with you there," Bill answered, lowering his shotgun and standing in front of Beatrice. "I'm Sergeant William Overbeck, United States Army."

"You look a little too old to be in the Army, Gramps."

"Well, I…um…I'm retired."

"Well, that's just my luck," Francis said, sighing deeply and looking around for a place to sit. "The first time in my life I'm happy to see a dude in military fatigues and it turns out he's retired and knows nothing about what's going on or where I…I mean _we_…can get evacuated."

"Keep your mouth shut, young man!" Beatrice shouted. "My husband just saved your life and you have the nerve to insult him like that? I guess your mother never taught you any manners."

"Bea, just settle down there," Bill said. "I can take care of this one just fine; I've cracked harder eggs than him in 'Nam."

"Yeah, listen to your old man, lady, 'cause you don't know what you're talkin' about! You see this?" Francis lifted his arm and showed Bill and Beatrice the scab of a bite wound that still looked fresh.

Bill's eyes widened and he immediately aimed his shotgun at Francis. "I suggest you get along out of here, son; I'm not one to kill someone who doesn't deserve to get killed yet. But if you hang around here any longer, and you start to turn, I'm gonna have no choice but to take you down."

Francis grinned at Bill and shook his head. "Got this beauty yesterday from one of my own buddies before shit got as bad as it is today. Turns out that it takes a little less than an hour for you to turn into one of those freaks. And you know what that means? That's right; 'ole Francis is immune to the virus!" He laughed. "It has nothing to do with morals, how nice or Godly you are; you either are or you aren't."

"I don't believe you," Bill said.

"Really?" Francis asked. "When was the last time _you_ saw one of 'em, Grandpa Bill?"

"Hours ago. We saw some running about and some chased our car, but the last ones I killed beside the she-devil over there were a few hours ago."

"Then I guess you and I are in the same boat. Why don't you take a look at your arm, bud."

When Bill glanced down toward his arm, he noticed a trickle of dried blood seeping down his arm. He figured it belonged to one of the infected, but upon further investigation realized that there was a deep scratch just above his forearm, which still hurt upon touch.

"How did…?" Bill began to question, when he realized that the man who had jumped on him in his backyard must've scratched him while they were grappling, and that Bill had not noticed the pain because his adrenaline was in full effect at that point. "Oh, shit…"

"Not to worry, old man, 'cause like I said, you're immune to the virus! No ands, ifs, or buts about it! The people I was with earlier talked about how long it took until all their loved ones turned and all said within the hour."

"Now, hold on," Bill said, looking over at Beatrice, "what makes you sure you're right?"

"Nothing," Francis answered. "But I sure as hell know that I haven't been sick and know I didn't turn up like all the others, so I'll take the good news as it comes."

"Bill," Beatrice said, her eyes welling up with tears. "Bill, what does this mean? Does this mean that you can't turn into one of them? If so, thank the Lord."

But before Bill could reply, Francis interjected. "Now what about you?" he asked. "Your old man is covered, but we don't know about you, do we, sweetheart? You can very well turn into one of those things outside and can take us out blindfolded."

"You're swimming in dangerous waters, son," Bill said, cocking his shotgun. "I'll worry about my wife. You worry about getting your sorry ass out of here before you say anything stupid."

"That's fine with me, Gramps," Francis said, brushing past Bill and Beatrice. "Just remember what I told ya, old man: you're immune to the virus, but that doesn't mean your old lady is. I'd keep her real close or take care of the problem now."

As Francis left, Beatrice clung to Bill and held him tight, kept repeating, "Don't let me turn into one of those things, Bill. Please don't let me turn into one of those things outside."

"Now don't you worry about a thing, hon," Bill promised. "Nobody is going to put a finger on you unless I have a say first. Now, I want you to hold this." Bill handed her a .45. "You remember how to use one, right? It's been a long time since I showed you."

Beatrice nodded. "You don't forget how to use a gun, William. But I don't know if I have the heart to shoot someone."

"Well, you're going to have to make an exception in this case, Bea, because if you don't kill them, they'll kill you. And I could sure use an extra pair of hands in case anything goes wrong."

He waited for her to respond but she didn't. Instead, he led her by the hand and ventured deeper into the police station, stopping by the temporary cells that were behind the receptionist's desks. All of them were filled with dead bodies, a massacre of torn limbs, buckets of blood, and a smell that made the dump seem like a four-star restaurant.

But upon passing the third cell, Bill noticed a man sitting on one of the cots in his cell, the young man in a ruffled officer's uniform. He didn't even seem to notice them until Bill hit the steel bars of the cell with his shotgun. The man immediately sat up and ran to the cell, to which Bill stepped back immediately.

"Please! You gotta get me outta here!" the young officer pleaded. "Some lunatic put me in here and just took off! He left me here to die, man! Let me out!"

Bill thought of Francis, the wild man he had encountered just minutes ago. "Where are the keys?" Bill asked.

The young officer pointed to the desk. "He left them on the desk, said that he was gonna leave them there so I can learn how to build character…whatever the hell that means."

Bill chuckled softly and grabbed the keys off the desk. He returned to the man's cell and unlocked it. "My name's Bill and this here is my wife, Beatrice. What's your name, son?"

"Rick," the young officer answered hesitantly, looking down to avoid Bill's gaze. There was something off about this young man, but Bill couldn't quite put his finger on it.

Until he saw the blood seeping down his pants.

Immediately, Rick pushed Bill to the side and knocked him over. He then ran over to Beatrice and grabbed her from behind, his hand wrapped tightly around her throat, using her as a human shield. "Now don't do nothing funny and nothing happens to your wife! You hear me, Chief? I'm gonna survive this, old man, and you can't stop me from leaving!"

_This guy is talking in circles; he's lost it_, Bill thought, standing up and putting his hands in the air. "Now don't do anything rash, son. Let my wife go and I won't follow you. You have my word."

"Kick your shotgun to me! Do it! And don't try to do anything, 'cause if you do, I'll break your wife's neck. Do it!"

Bill did as he was told and kicked the shotgun towards Rick, who watched Bill cautiously and somewhat hungrily. That's when Bill heard the gunshot and saw Rick's face split into two pieces, letting his tight grip on Beatrice's throat loose before slumping to the ground.

Neither Bill nor Beatrice moved a muscle. Bill, his heart racing a mile a minute, looked over and noticed the smoking barrel of a 9mm held by Francis.

"Dipshit," Francis said, spitting on Rick's body. "I left that asshole in there because he got bit and killed three civilians. Was considering coming back for him to see if he turned and if he calmed down. Looks like he answered my questions. You two all right?"

Bill nodded and grabbed his shotgun. Beatrice didn't say a word, just stood there holding her throat, the imprint of five fingers laced around her neck. "Are you all right, Bea?" Bill asked. "He didn't hurt you, did he?"

Beatrice shook her head and looked up at Bill with empty eyes. "No, he didn't hurt me, Bill. I'm all right. Thank you, young man."

"Don't mention it; I hate cops anyway," Francis grinned, and began to leave once again.

"Hold on, Francis," Bill called back. Francis stopped. "Now I'm not one to ask for anyone's help, but what's happening here isn't like fixin' up a bathroom or tilin' a floor. There are too many dead and not enough living. Since you and I are immune to this virus, I think it'd be in our best interest to stick together until we escape the city, for both our sakes. I could use all the help I could get, son."

Francis rubbed his chin with his hand and grinned. "You know, these infected aren't the only ones running around out there; there are others, ones that'll tear you inside-out before you realize they're there."

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about these infected in hooded sweatshirts that prowl around the city hoping to pounce on someone who isn't expecting 'em. I called them Hunters for that reason. And once you get one of 'em on ya, there ain't no way to get him off without someone else's help. I had one on me yesterday, and the buddy that bit me is the one who saved me. Go figure, huh?"

"All the more reason to stick around us, wouldn't you say? I may be old, but damn it, I'm still in the fight. And if I die, I need someone to look after Beatrice here."

"I'm not a babysitter, Gramps."

"I'm not asking you to be one; _bodyguard_ was the word I was thinking of."

Francis sighed and shook his head. "It's not like I have much of a choice, do I? Well, let's get going before more of 'em show up."

As the trio was beginning to leave, they glanced over to a monitor that was beeping red. None were sure what this device did, but it did have a switch on it. Once it was flipped, a static voice filtered in the police station, sounded like a young girl.

"Hello?" it said, sounding terrified. "Is anyone there? Please, is anyone still alive in there? If you can hear me, please say something."

Tears followed the broken voice, along with some profanities and banging…along with gunshots.

"Hello?" Bill asked, receiving nothing for a few seconds. "Hello?" he repeated, hoping he'd get a response. His voice was drowned out by the sounds of gunshots, and to his ear he knew what type of gun it was; the person who called was using a Ruger Mini-14 Hunting Rifle.

"Oh, my God!" the voice exclaimed. "Someone is still there? Holy shit, thank you, Lord!"

"Now slow down, miss," Bill said. "Can you tell us where you are?"

"My name's Zoey and I'm a student at the University. I've been trapped in my dorm for over a day now, and these things are getting more persistent. I've been calling for hours and hours but nobody's taken the call until now. Can someone please get me? I'm not sure how much longer I can hold out against these things. Please." She began to sob once again. "I'm the only left alive here, and I'm scared. I don't wanna die."

Bill looked over at Francis, who kept shaking his head endlessly, mouthing, "You better not."

"All right, we'll be over there shortly. What building are you in?"

Francis sighed and slapped his forehead.

"I'm in Building F, Dorm 203. Please hurry!"

They heard a loud crash and a scream, and the line went dead.

"She's dead, old man," Francis said immediately. "Something just broke in and took her out. There's no reason for the three of us to sacrifice ourselves to save some potentially hot college student."

"You can go your own separate way, Francis, but I need to help this girl. The University isn't very far from here, and if we pick up pace, we should be there in less than a half-hour."

"Gramps, walking a block is asking for suicide in the first place, and now you're asking us to walk for a half-hour to save some girl who's already dead? That's one of the stupidest things I've ever heard, and mind you, old man, I'm not the brightest tool in the shed."

"Sharpest tool," Bill corrected.

"Whatever! Look, the point is, I'm _not_ gonna get skinned alive. What do you make of this, old lady?"

"My name is Beatrice, young man. Just because this is happening doesn't mean you can talk to absolute strangers with such discourtesy. And if you're asking what I think we should do, well I say we help the poor dear. She's alone and scared and needs our help." She thought of Dorothy. "Even if we think we are wasting or time and she turns out to be dead, then we can at least know and have the peace to say we tried."

"So whataya say, Francis?" Bill asked, grinning.

Francis sighed a deep sigh, shook his head, and walked in front of Bill. "I hate school," he said, "but we might as well take a look, right?"

They took the time to search the dead bodies of the police to yield more shotgun ammo, as well as extra 9mm handgun magazines. One officer had the beauty of having three magazines for the .45 tucked into the belt of his separated torso.

When they were all loaded, Francis proceeded outside of the police station, scouring the area with his shotgun before looking over at Bill and saying, "All clear."

But what Francis didn't see was the deformed blob waiting on top of the entrance of the police station. It fell down, its grotesque body puffed out like a blow fish, sporting sores as big as baseballs, and vomited all over Francis, before Francis put a round through its stomach and it exploded into a cloud of blood, knocking Francis off his feet.

"Oh, shit," Francis said, smelling himself, "oh, my God, this shit smells horrible! Hey, can you believe—"

"Shh!" Bill interrupted, perking his ears and listening to the howling that filled the air. Immediately, they saw a horde of the infected running towards their position, all of them nearly tripping over themselves with delight. "Everyone, behind the desk! Now, people! We need to set a perimeter here!"

Francis wiped his eyes and his mouth from the bile, and tumbled over the desk, shotgun already in the air, and fired alongside Bill, the inside of the station echoing from the blasts and the hungry moans and the screaming of Beatrice, who had her hands over her ears.

In seconds it was over, and the infected bodies piled up in front of the station, not one of them moving. The torso of the monster who threw up on Francis was gone, and only its legs remained.

"Is everyone all right?" Bill finally asked, his breath low and shaky, glancing over at Francis who was doing the same but with a grin on his face. Francis nodded and Beatrice said nothing, just clung to Bill's arm instead and let out the certain tears of fear.

"I'm sorry," she said. "I know you want me to be strong, and I'm trying _so_ hard, Bill. I'm sorry for crying."

"Hey, it's all right, dear," he said to reassure her. "We're all scared, hon."

"Speak for yourselves," Francis said, wiping the bile off with a dead policeman's shirt. Bill gave Francis a look that said, _Will you just go along with what I say to keep my wife from freaking out and apologizing?_ The look had anger and sorrow behind it. Francis nodded. "Yeah, I'm scared too, Bea."

"You see?" Bill told her. "Even a tough guy like Francis shakes in his boots from time to time. It's natural, Bea. So don't you worry about being scared, all right? We're all scared of what's happening and what could happen, but so long as we stick together, nothing will happen."

Beatrice nodded and wiped away her tears, handing Bill back his .45. "I can't use this, William, not on any person, living or dead. You understand, don't you?"

Bill nodded and took his weapon back. "Yeah, I understand all too well, honey," he said, running his thumb across her eyes to get the remaining tears. "You just stick close to me and you won't ever have to use one these again."

"We should get going," Francis said, loading his shotgun and cocking it once it was fully loaded. "That girl is probably holed out in a closet or something waiting for us to come rescue her. We still going with that plan, eh, Gramps?"

Bill nodded and loaded his shotgun as well. He glanced over at Beatrice, who was holding her throat and wincing. "Are you all right, sweetheart?" Bill asked. "He's gone now, hon," Bill said, referring to Rick, "and I'll make sure nothing _ever_ touches you again, not while I'm still around. All right? You believe me?"

Beatrice looked at Bill with empty eyes, still unaware of all that's happening around here and why. Why was God allowing such a thing to happen to the world? She was glad that Bill was immune to the virus, but what about her? Francis had been right; she could very well kill the both of them from behind without their realizing. So what was she to do?

Looking into Bill's eyes, she knew. She knew that he was her soldier, the only person in the world who would do whatever it took to get his ideals done, even if it meant sacrificing himself to do it. That was the kind of person Bill was, and that was one of the qualities Beatrice fell in love with when they had first met so many years ago, in paradise.

She wiped the small, almost undetectable trickle of blood dripping from her neck and followed Bill and Francis out of the police station.

_ {break}_

_The revelation of being immune hit me like a ton of bricks. The idea of remaining human in an inhuman society was very fortunate, but I didn't only have myself to think about. Leaving those thoughts aside, we set out for the streets to search for and hopefully rescue the university girl from the clutches of these monsters. I just prayed to God that when I get there I won't have to kill her._

_- Sergeant William Overbeck, United States Army (Ret.)_

_ {break}_

A/N: There's Chapter 2 for you guys. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Needless to say, Left 4 Dead is probably one of the best games ever made, and is one of my favorites as well. And the character of Bill is somebody who I feel we all want to be in some way, which is why I've decided to focus mainly on him in this story. Look for more soon.

And guys, if you take the time to read this story, please leave some feedback, either positive or negative. It will give me the idea that people are actually reading and are waiting for future installments, which would make me write quicker. Again, thank you for taking the time to read this.


	3. Wicked

Pre-Chapter Author's Note: Thank you all for reviewing, guys! I'm glad some people are taking an interest in my story. I hope I will not disappoint. I saw that there may have been some confusion in some of the reviews of the last chapter, so I'll take the time to answer those questions now.

"I'm curious though, was the viral immunity your idea, or one from the L4D universe?" The immunity thing is not my idea, rather, an element of L4D. Some things in game that support this clause is evident in the Church Guy, a man who's bitten and feels as though he's immune because the supposed "allotted" time has passed. However, once the survivors clear the area, they find that the Church Guy had changed into an Infected and he attacks them. He did not expire or die of his wounds, but merely changed because the infection has taken hold of him.

That's the angle I'm working with: it's an infection. The "zombies" are referred to as the Infected in L4D.

"Does Beatrice know she was scratched?" You will see in this chapter what Beatrice is thinking and feeling in terms of this question.

"It doesn't take complete zombification to be able to infect?" In my mind, as well as many other horror movies with this same theme, this infection is merely like any other virus, so _yes_, one scratch, one bite, to those who are not immune, and its game over for them. Think of infected blood that happens to be on the infector's fingernails, as well as the fact that they are carriers themselves. Rick had been infected by the carriers; the virus was in his bloodstream taking him over slowly. Scratching Beatrice transferred his infected blood and cells into her, infecting her as well.

And in terms of the survivors being immune to the virus, a statement made by Bill (I believe when he gets knocked down either once or twice or in some random conversation) states, "We've been immune so far but, well, if I start to turn... promise you'll shoot me." to which Francis replies, "What if just your beard starts to turn? Can I shoot that, too?" Though it's a miniscule comment made during passing, I take that as being relevant to the situation around our survivors, and it's something I'm going to hold.

Hope that clears some things up for you. Sit back and enjoy this chapter. Thanks for the reviews/criticism guys.

III

Wicked

Walking from the police station with a big smile on his face, Francis said, "Did ya see how that Boomer exploded before?"

"Boomer?" Bill asked, not knowing what Francis was talking about.

"Yeah, the dude who went _boom_ when I shot him, covering me in all this muck? You know, I was wondering if there are more of 'em out there 'cause it seemed like as soon as he threw up on me, all those zombies started running towards us. Wonder why that was."

"You sure they didn't just smell you, Francis?" Bill asked, grinning a little whilst playfully nudging Beatrice with his elbow. "That's how we found you; followed our noses."

"I hate bein' clean," Francis said, spinning around quickly at the sound of fading gunfire. Survivors were certainly all around the city, survivors who very well may need help, but with all that was happening and the thought of the undead population, there was little the trio could do for them. For now, they were stuck on their own path, which was heading to the University to see if the young woman caller, Zoey, was still alive.

Bill looked over at Beatrice, who had been looking down to the floor ever since they left the police station, and frowned. "What's wrong, Bea?" Bill asked. "You hadn't said a word since we left the station. Are you all right?"

"Are any of us _all right_, William?" she answered, still not taking her gaze from the floor. "Just take a look around you; the world's coming to an end. And…back at the station with that cop, he…"

"Sorry to interrupt the convo, kids," Francis said, looking back, "but we got some company! Let's go! Move!"

Bill turned and saw three infected emerging from a building across the street. When they saw the survivors they froze for a mere second, cocked their heads like a pack of confused dogs, and wailed. They were much faster than Bill had previously thought, and with his bum leg, he wasn't quite as fast as he used to be.

"In here, people!" Bill yelled, motioning at a building to their left. "We'll lose them in there!"

Francis took Bill's lead and ran into the building, slamming his body against the door and held it open for Beatrice to run through. "Come on, old man," Francis yelled, watching Bill hobbling over, shooting glances behind him and noticing that the infected were nearly upon him.

"Watch out, Bill!" Beatrice screamed, causing Bill to quickly turn around and fire suddenly, blowing off the jaw of the infected that was mere feet away from him. The infected's mouth dripped with gore and his eyes rolled to the back of his head and he quickly lost pace, slumping to the ground shortly thereafter. This gave Bill enough time to enter the building, Francis using his big, strong body to block the advances of the infected from getting any further.

"Bar the door!" Francis ordered, gritting his teeth.

Quick on his feet, Bill noticed a sofa to his right and immediately pushed it to the door Francis was blocking. By then, more carriers had appeared and joined the other two in trying to breach the building. Bill and the others took the time to take a rest on the sofa that was blocking the door.

Beatrice's face started to turn pale, and she was sweating profusely.

"Are you all right?" Bill asked, placing his hand on her chin delicately. "You should lie down for a few minutes."

"No, no," she said, shaking her head. "I'm fine, dear. Just a little shook up is all." She tried all she could to muster a smile, giving Bill a kiss on his cheek and looking over at Francis, who unloaded and reloaded his shotgun out of pure boredom. She stood up and walked to the other side of the room, feeling around her neck and wincing as the scratch there grew wider and infected. She wanted to hyperventilate, but didn't because she didn't want to worry Bill.

_Am I going to be like one of them? Am I immune like Bill and Francis? If not, how long do I have? Am I infected now? _

"Take the time to relax for a few minutes, will ya?" Francis said, standing up and looking out the window, noticing that the infected outside were not backing down. "You don't know how fast or for how long we're gonna have to run when we get outta here so I suggest you take my advice. Looks like those bastards out there are hungry and this sofa ain't gonna hold out against much more of 'em. We need a plan, old man."

"Yeah," Bill said, standing up as well and making his way to Beatrice. "First things first, we need to comb this building out and see what we can find and use. Then, we secure the exits and make our way to the University; it isn't too far off now, and we need to hurry if we want to help that young woman."

"_If_ she's still alive," Francis interjected. "I mean, why not just hole out in this building when we clear it out? It's a decent-sized office building, yeah, but I'm sure there's enough food in here and in the vending machines to last us a little while, at least until we need to relocate."

"No go. We keep moving. They'll tear this building apart before the next day's through, and somehow, not sure how I know, but they communicate with each other somehow. There were two zombies outside not even ten minutes ago and now it's close to two dozen; they know we're in here, and in a day, who knows how many of them will be out there."

"You got a point, old man," Francis agreed. "Fuck looking through the building for supplies; all that's gonna be here are staplers and paperclips. I hate staplers and paperclips, Bill, so we need to get outta here now if we're gonna save Miss Lovely Cheeks over at the University. We move. We move _now_, old man. I see how your leg is all screwy, so if they break in while we're lookin' around, you're fucked. And I ain't gonna be here when—"

Francis' words were cut off when a long, lanky-pink tentacle broke through the window and latched onto Francis' neck, knocking the wind out of him and dragging him along the floor toward the window it erupted from.

"Francis!" Bill shockingly yelled, running over and trying to pry him free. He could see Francis' face start to turn blue, trying to pry the elongated pink tentacle off him as well.

"Cu…it…" he gasped, now turning purple, getting dragged to the shattered window. "Cut…the… mn…thin…"

Bill stood up and slashed at the elongated pink tentacle with his machete, blood pouring from the tentacle's new wound, finally relinquishing its grip on Francis. When it slithered back from whence it came, Bill looked outside and saw what looked to be a six-foot-five man grab its tongue, smoke surrounding his form. Bill couldn't quite make it certain, but he swore he heard it coughing as it ran off, the smoky trail dissipating.

"You all right?" Bill asked Francis, who was coughing, regaining the color in his face. "You almost bit the bullet that time."

"Yeah. Thanks, old man," Francis gargled, clearing his throat. "That was a close one. What…was that?"

"I'm not sure, son, but that Smoker's going to be coming back soon. And we need to get out of here before he does."

"Oh, God!" Bill heard Beatrice scream. "They…they're coming!"

"What?" Bill noticed that the window that was shattered by the Smoker was now being used as an entrance point for the infected outside. "Come on, people!" Bill shouted, helping Francis up, grabbing his shotgun in the meantime. "We need to find an exit! Move it!"

The trio began to run, the moans of the infected growing louder and louder. They ran down the hallway to the left, finding nothing but a string of offices and a dead end.

That's when they heard the sound of glass crunching and shattering.

"Quick! In here!" Bill exclaimed, opening the door to an office to his left and watching the infected topple over one another to reach them. Francis piled in first, but by the time Beatrice had managed to get in, one of the infected reached her and sunk its teeth into her arm, causing her to scream in agony.

Bill fired once at the infected woman who had latched onto Beatrice and blew her face off, pushing Beatrice into the office and piling in himself, shutting the door. The room they were in housed no windows, had no means of escape for the trio.

Blood gushed down from Beatrice's arm, her breathing became heavy, her face more pale than it had been. "Oh, God, oh, God, oh, God," she kept repeating, holding her arm out and watching as the blood spilled onto the floor.

Bill looked over at Francis who shut his eyes and gritted his teeth, looking over at Beatrice with sad eyes. They both knew she was infected; she was not immune to the virus, but what were they to do? She would eventually turn into one of the infected, and by then, they wouldn't have much of a choice but to dispose of her. But with things the way they were, they were still trapped and running out of options…and ammunition.

"Open the door," Francis ordered, looking over at Bill. "We need to kill these fuckers and get the hell outta here before more of 'em show up. We won't last long in here with no food or water, and like you said, old man, by the time tomorrow rolls around, we won't be able to get out at all. Open the door."

"Beatrice…" Bill sighed, kneeling beside her, inspecting her wound. "We need to get that patched up, hon." When he saw that her eyes were still trained on her arm, Bill noticed a trickle of blood trailing from her neck as well. "What happened to your neck, Bea?"

"That man in the police station…the one who grabbed me," she answered. "He scratched me, scratched me hard, made me bleed, ended my life."

"Your life isn't over, Beatrice, you're still alive," Bill said to reassure her. "I need you to get on the other side of the office now. Francis and I are going to open the door and let them in so we can take care of the problem now so we can go. I need you to listen to me, Bea, ok?"

She looked up at his face and saw the brash young man she fell in love with, the man with the stunning blue eyes and the strength of a champion. She thought about their first date at the carnival, where he won her a stuffed animal in the Strength Challenge, swinging that big mallet and hearing the _ding!_ at the top. He looked over and smiled his boyish smile, giving her the teddy bear he had won. She still had that teddy bear in her house somewhere, her house that was probably trashed and looted and tarnished by now.

She thought about the silver heart-shaped locket he had given her for their twenty-fifth anniversary, which opened up in halves and displayed black and white photos of their faces on each side. The very same locket she was wearing that moment.

Then she felt the hunger and sadness. She stared at her arms and noticed that her veins started to turn black, the sweat pouring down her face, the coldness taking over. She crawled to the other side of the room as she watched Bill and Francis in front of the door, taking a defensive position. In a second, the door flung open and gunfire erupted in the small office, body parts and blood painting the walls, curses echoing in the hallways.

The sadness gripped her like an unforgiving tide. She mustered all she could to shake the unending thoughts of sadness and grief from her heart, but the more she tried to wish it away, the more it washed over her. She felt sharp pains in her hands and looked down at them, the fingers elongating, the bones breaking and splitting. The inside of her body felt like it was on fire. She tore at her shirt and her pants, trying to make the burn go away.

When the firing subsided, Bill looked over at Beatrice who fell to her knees and was grabbing her head.

"Bea? Bea!" he yelled, running over to her. When he reached her and grabbed her shoulder, she shrugged him off and ran into the hallway, screaming as she did. Bill took off soon after, not even aware of what he was running into, which was a hallway crowded with the infected. They all noticed Bill immediately but did not chase him right away, flailing and swaying as they did.

"Old man, what are ya doin'?" Francis yelled, running after him. Francis saw Bill take a left at the next hallway and he followed immediately after, smacking an infected that tried to grab him as he did. He then saw Bill run into a staircase, the infected directly behind him. Francis took a well-aimed shot at the infected who was directly behind Bill and blew her leg off, watching a cloud of crimson erupt from her form.

The cries grew louder and louder as Bill grew closer to the stairway. He took the time to look back as Francis slammed his body against the door of the staircase to keep the infected horde at bay. Some fingers burst through the opening of the door, but were either withdrawn or became severed when the door shut. Francis shouted in anger, watching the hungry eyes of the infected scratching and pounding on the door, disappointed that their meal was so close to them.

"Jesus, Bill," Francis panted, locking the door and wiping the infected blood off his forehead, spitting on the door. "The next time you fucking take off like that, let me know."

"Shh!" Bill silenced him, perking his ears and hearing the cries of Beatrice

He found her in a dark room with her hands buried in her face. Bill noticed that her skin was much paler than it had been, and she was missing her pants, now being only in her underwear. He nodded to Francis who shook his head and stood at the doorway while Bill slowly walked over to Beatrice.

"Get away, Bill," she wailed, her hands still buried in her face. "I don't want to live anymore. Just leave me here and save the girl. Just _leave_ me here."

"Now you know I can't do that, Bea," Bill sighed, walking closer. "If I leave you here, hon, then who's going to keep me in check? I _need_ you, Bea, don't you understand that? I _love_ you. If you're going to stay here, then I'm going to stay here with you, no matter what."

Francis shook his head and muttered, "Yeah, drag me to this fucking place with God knows how may of them fifteen feet away and then decide to stick around because of your wife."

Bill paid Francis no mind, focusing more on his still hysterical wife.

"I said get away, Bill," Beatrice said once again, shuffling further away from him. "I mean it, William; leave me alone."

Bill picked up his pace a little, dropping his shotgun on the floor and lightly grabbing her shoulders, kneeling to the ground behind her. "It'll be all right, Beatrice. I'll protect you from whatever's out there 'til my last dying breath today and tomorrow and whatever days may come after that. You have my word, Beatrice. I'd never leave you behind."

Beatrice was still sobbing and Bill could see that blood was running down Beatrice's fingers; she was pressing her fingernails in her face. "I said _get away_!" Beatrice screamed in an unusual high-pitched voice, turning to face Bill, her eyes as crimson as the devil's. The tears that fell from her eyes were filled with blood.

"Holy shit, she's one of 'em!" Francis screamed, cocking his shotgun and pointing it at Beatrice. Bill jumped in front of Francis' sight, blocking his shot. "Get the fuck outta the way, old man, she ain't your wife no more!"

Beatrice leaped forward, knocking Bill out of the way and toppled on top of Francis, knocking the shotgun out of his hands and smacking him against the wall, knocking the sense out of him.

"No!" Bill yelled, running forward just as Beatrice smacked Francis against the wall. He hadn't noticed it before, but Beatrice's hands grew three times in size, and her once slender fingers were now elongated and razor sharp. There was no doubt in his mind that she wasn't his wife anymore.

Bill grabbed her by the arms and restrained her while Francis regained his composure and shuffled away towards his shotgun. Bill and Beatrice fell backwards, knocking the wind out of Bill as he came crashing down. Beatrice took the opportunity to flip Bill around and stood over him, scratching him on the back, slashing up his shirt.

When Francis grabbed his shotgun, he spun and saw Bill cowering, his knees to his chest, his hands covering his face, all the while Beatrice using her razor-sharp hands to slash at him. When he finally reached Bill, he stood over Beatrice and cocked his shotgun once more.

"No!" Bill shouted, grabbing Francis by the ankle and pulling him to the ground once again, his shotgun firing on the way down. One of the stray pellets from the shotgun hit Beatrice on the shoulder, which stopped her attack.

She then stood up and grabbed her head, let out a shriek, and ran to the door Francis locked earlier, knocking it down with ease and slashing up the infected on the other side, her shrieks echoing along with her soon after.

Bill stood up and took off his shirt, noticing two large tears on the back of his shirt from Beatrice and put it back on; more clothes, more protection. He winced as he put the shirt back on, sweat trickling down his face and back, and sighed, slumping against a wall.

"Idiot," Francis said, grabbing his shotgun and standing up. "Shoulda let me shoot her when I had the chance. Who knows where the fuck she's going to be waiting for us now."

"Couldn't let you do it, Francis," Bill said, searching for his box of cigarettes and noticing that they were crushed, silently showing his discontent with a muttered curse. "She's my wife."

Francis shook his head and picked up Bill's shotgun and handed it to him. "That wasn't your old lady, Bill…that was a Witch."

_{break}_

_And just like that, she was gone. Like Francis said; she wasn't Beatrice anymore, she was a Witch, an infected like all the others. I have failed in my duty as a husband and as a man, and have dwindled my numbers back to a pair. __I was foolish. I let my good nature get in the way of my survival, and little did I know that Beatrice would pay for it with her life. _But this got me to wonder...the infected are certainly "dead", but still retain their physical appearance, although in a savage nature. Could there still be a sliver of Beatrice's soul or mind in the shell I saw? Worse yet, if I found her trying to escape the city...would I kill her?

_- Sergeant William Overbeck, United States Army (Ret.)_

_{break}_

A/N: Well, here's the chapter for you guys! I hope you enjoy it. I thought I'd throw in a little Easter egg for you guys if you noticed it; i.e.: Bill's torn shirt from the actual game. I thought it'd be a creative way to show you how it could have come about.


	4. College Girl

IV

College Girl

Bill held the shotgun in his right hand, staring at the crumpled box of cigarettes before him. There was so much running through his head that he hadn't even noticed that Francis was standing in front of him, waving his hand up and down to knock him out of the funk he was in.

"You home, old man?" Francis asked, shaking his shoulder. "You've been standing there for ten minutes staring at those cigs on the ground. I know some shit went down, but we need to get moving before they find us, Bill. We need to find the girl."

"She's gone," Bill trailed off, still not taking his gaze from the cigarettes. "She's really gone, Francis. She's dead. I'll never hear her voice anymore, never feel or smell her hair. She'll never be able to talk to her boy again. What's it all for, Francis?"

"I…I don't know, Bill," Francis said, lowering his head. "I just know that we're alive now, and that's all we can focus on. We need to live and make it to the University to go help that girl. That's what your old lady wanted to do; she wanted to find and help that girl when I didn't want to. We owe it to her to do it."

"Yeah," Bill sighed, loading his shotgun, feeling around his belt to make sure his 1911's were still holstered and had their safety's off for safety's sake. "I just wanted her to make it out of the city with me. So many people are gone, dead, living, whatever they are, and I don't know what they're feeling or going through. I mean, she didn't know it was me, Francis. I felt like a stranger who was mugging her; that's how she looked at me. I…I…"

"Come on," Francis said, lightly smacking Bill in the chest with his shotgun. "The longer we wait here, the longer that girl's gotta survive on her own."

Francis immediately took point and headed upstairs, relieved that he heard the clap of footsteps behind him as he did. He knew that Bill was hurting on the inside, but everyone's lost someone. Bill lost his wife, just like Francis lost all of his biker brothers, the people who were his family, who were like brothers. They had to get used to the idea of death around every corner, the idea that they could be savagely ripped apart at any moment. And with things like Smokers, Boomers, and Hunters wandering around, the possibility of survival was even bleaker. Francis knew that they were just fortunate enough to have been immune; otherwise, they would have all been dead already.

"Stand by," Francis said, fist in the air, signaling for Bill to stop. At the top of the stairs, he peered his head around the doorway slightly and saw bits and pieces of the infected lying on the ground, the smell awful, nauseating. "Jesus, your old lady put a number on these bastards."

Carefully stepping out into the hallway, Francis noticed that there were no infected littering the halls. The only beings in the building at the moment were he and Bill. There were so many of them in pieces that every step he took he stepped on some appendage, almost falling to the ground on several occasions.

Bill covered his nose with the sleeve of his shirt, careful not to breathe too much of the toxic smell in. From what Francis had said, it seemed that Beatrice had slaughtered these infected before she took off; her body was not among the infected in the hallway. But this caused an intriguing thought to Bill: did Beatrice know that she was killing the infected in order to protect Bill and Francis before her mind got completely taken over? Was it merely coincidence? Too many thoughts raced through his mind, thoughts of hope and salvation and closure, but none of them could ever bring peace to his mind. His wife was lost somewhere in the city of the dead, and she was never going to come back.

"If we take the back exit of the building, we should be able to make it to the University in fifteen minutes if we hustle. The young lady said she was in Building F, Dormitory 203. Now, I'm not too familiar with the campus. Are you?"

Francis scratched his goatee. "Nah, I hate school, and I especially hate college students. Buncha Libs. Won't know my way around there."

"Well, there's probably a directory on the campus grounds somewhere that we can find to navigate. How many shells do you have left?"

"Besides what's in the shotty already, which is loaded, I have about forty shells left."

"I have thirty-five. We have my 1911's and my machete. I can't believe we combed through the station and didn't notice any other things to bring along. Well, no crying over spilled milk, I suppose. Let's get going."

Bill and Francis took the back exit of the building they were in and scoped out the street. As far as they could see was the large University that housed the girl who called the station. Neither of them knew if she was still alive or if they were just wasting their time, ammunition, and health, but Bill knew that this was something he and Beatrice wanted to do together-the last thing they would've done together-and now that she was gone, he had to honor her last wish even if it meant putting himself in harm's way to do it.

"How's your leg? Can you run?" Francis asked.

Bill nodded. "Don't have much of a choice. These bastards don't really know the meaning of jogging themselves. Wonder how long they have to run before they tire themselves out."

"Probably don't," Francis nodded, jogging down the street, keeping his eyes peeled for any infected that dared look at them the wrong way. For the most part, all the infected that were on the sidewalks watched as the two jogged down the street, conscious of their existence but did not pursue them. "Why aren't they chasing us?"

"Beats me," Bill answered, "but I'm not about to complain about it. We don't have the bullets to kill the lot of them. Let's just take the good news as it comes to us."

Immediately, the University was right in front of them, and the two were met with little resistance. They only had to use two shells each to reach the university, which housed many of the infected wandering on the Great Lawn.

"Shit," Francis muttered. "I hate crowds."

"We need to find the directory," Bill said, slowing his breathing as he and Francis took to walking onto the concrete walkway in search of one. The front of the buildings had large letters printed on them, and the one they were now in front of was labeled "B". "You see any directory?"

"What the hell does a directory look like?" Francis asked in turn. "Like one of those "you are here" maps?"

"I would think so," Bill answered. "And it's gotta be here somewhere. But with all these things roaming around, we may have to take our chances roaming as well. And careful not to fire unless we absolutely need to; if those things hear the slightest sound, you better bet your ass that they'll be on us like salt on eggs."

"Salt on eggs? God, you're old."

The two carefully walked along the concrete path, Bill's machete in his right hand in case any of the infected dared to attack them. When they reached another building labeled "C", Bill saw the directory, which was housed by four infected surrounding it.

"Shit," he breathed. "The directory's right over there. "But those things are in the way. You got any ideas?"

"Yeah, hold on a sec," Francis said, grabbing Bill's machete and walking over to the small group, hacking and heaving his way through the masses, returning to Bill with blood splattered on his face. "Here's your machete," he grinned, spitting on the ground.

"You couldn't check the directory while you were there?"

"My, um…navigation skills aren't, uh, up there."

"Yeah, I could say a lot of that about you," Bill sighed, shaking his head and walking over to the directory, placing his finger on where he and Francis were standing and where they needed to be. When he returned, he gave a handgun to Francis.

"What's that?"

"Glock 18, 9mm, standard police issue. Found it on one of the guys you hacked up. Looks like if we need ammo, we're going to have to kill the law enforcement."

"You promise?" Francis grinned, putting the Glock in the back of his pants. "Man, you saying that was like Santa Clause giving me the shiny red bike I always wanted."

"You wanted a shiny red bike?"

"Yeah, Harley Davidson."

"You wanted a motorcycle when you were a kid?"

"What? No. I wanted one last year."

Bill shook his head and grinned. "Well, the directory says that F's behind this building here. Looks like there aren't many of them on the path, so I think we're pretty safe the way we're going."

When the two entered the "F" building, they smelled the blood and gunpowder immediately. There was definitely an engagement in the building recently, and the two decided that they may not have the opportunity to go silent in this close quartered building.

"Shoot, what was the girl's name? Joey? Chloe?" Bill asked.

"I'm pretty sure it was Danielle."

"Danielle? No, it definitely ended with an '_e_' sound, I know it."

Francis shrugged his shoulders. "Who gives a shit if we know her name? If she's alive, I'm sure she'll tell us. What room did she say she was in again?"

"203."

"All right, here's the staircase. God, I hate steps."

"You're complaining? I'm the one with the bum leg here. Get your whiny ass up there."

When the two reached the second floor, they saw the body of a young woman slumped in the corner, her head completely missing, her hand clasping what looked like car keys.

"What the hell are these things? What are we dealing with?"

"They're dead, old man, just like you would've been in a few weeks if you let nature run its course."

"How can you joke when there's a decapitated body in front of you?"

"The way I see it, the second I start to let all the shit that happening sink into my head, I'm a dead man. We need to distance ourselves with the situation and people so we can survive. We don't have any other choice."

Walking into room 203, Bill lowered his shotgun and witnessed the carnage within. There was blood on the walls, along with the bodies of several young men and women on the couches and the carpet, all of them with contorted faces, some missing arms, legs, torsos, and eyeballs.

"Jesus," Francis said, lowering his own shotgun. "Looks like these kids got taken to town." He yawned, stretching out his arms. "Well, let's get going, old man."

"Real sensitive, Francis," Bill sighed, combing through the dorm for anything. He walked over to a desk and saw a blank marble notebook lying on top of it. He flipped through the pages to make sure it was blank before pocketing it; he wanted to make it a journal chronicling what has happened and what will happen in the future.

Then, the two heard a rustle.

When Francis and Bill turned around, they noticed one of the young men, the one on the couch, rose and cracked his neck, looking around his surroundings. He stood up and immediately noticed Bill and Francis, both of them with their shotguns raised.

"Son, are you all right?" Bill asked, watching as the young man stumbled and fell to the ground. He then watched as the young man stood up once more and shambled towards Francis, who had his finger on the trigger, itching to pull it back. The young man's eyes were milky white, and he then let out a shriek, widening his arms and sprinted towards Francis, who fired his shotgun at the man's face, blowing his jaw back. The young man's eyes rolled to the back of his head and he stopped his advance, crumpling to the floor.

Bill was breathing heavily; it was the first time he had ever seen a person who was dead rise right in front of him. It was something he hoped he would never see again.

"The girl's dead, old man," Francis said. "All these poor son's of bitches are. And we're gonna join 'em if we don't get the hell out now and—"

Another rustle, this time from the closet to Bill's right. He stumbled backwards, aiming his shotgun at the closet door. "Cover me, Francis. I'm gonna open the door and if anything's behind it, I want you to blow it sky-high."

"Gotcha. Just don't get in my way."

"Okay," Bill said, his hand shaking the doorknob of the closet, the knob rattling. "One…two…"

"No!" came a voice from inside the closet, the closet suddenly opening and a young woman falling to her knees in front of Bill. "Don't shoot me, please! I'm not one of them! Oh, God, please don't kill me!"

"Francis, lower the shotgun," Bill ordered, putting his arm up and lowering it to simulate the action. He then took a knee beside the girl and put his arm around her shoulder. "Are you the young lady I spoke to in the station?" he asked, watching a glimmer of hope shine in her eyes when she looked at him.

"Yeah, my name's Zoey. Where are the rest of you guys?"

Bill shook his head. "You're looking at them. We aren't the police. We were just there when you called. How long have you been here?"

"When all this happened I was at my dad's house. When those things started to become too much, I ran and made my way here. My friends and I were trapped in one of the other dorms for a while, but those things managed to break in and killed everyone."

"You sound pretty calm for all the shit that going on around you," Francis muttered, folding his arms. "And I'm the unsensitive one."

"Insensitive, Francis."

"Whatever!"

Zoey raised her arm and showed Bill a bite mark on her forearm. "My boyfriend and I were the only ones left, and we ended up coming in here. I didn't know he was bit and when he turned, he, he…he bit me…and I shot him."

Bill looked over at Francis and shook his head. "She's bit," he said bleakly, shaking his head. "What'll we do?"

"What we shoulda done to that ass in the station." He rose his shotgun. "We gotta smoke her. Get outta the way, old man. It's her or us."

"Wait!" Bill said, standing in front of her. "We don't know anything about the girl, Francis." He glared at her. "When were you bitten?"

"Yesterday," Zoey answered, her head still lowered. "If you don't believe me you can take a look at my arm. Blood's dry, the skin's healing."

Bill lightly grabbed her arm and turned it over so he could inspect the wound. What Zoey said was true; it looked like the wound was beginning to heal, and if it was done in the past few hours the blood would still be flowing, and the bite would look a lot more infected and her arm would look a lot more swollen.

"She's telling the truth, Francis," Bill said, patting his hand on Zoey's shoulder. "We can't kill her; she's still got the ability to think, to feel, an—"

"Your wife's dead, Bill! She was bitten and she turned like all the others! You gotta stop trusting people, especially people we just met. The girl ain't immune like us, so stop thinking that everyone we run into is gonna be immune. They're gonna be like this bastard I just blew away and like your wife."

Bill ran forward, dropping his shotgun and hit Francis as hard as he could in the face, knocking him down. "You son of a bitch!" He sat on top of him and punched him in the face again. "_Prick_!" He punched him again. "_Bastard_!"

Francis grabbed Bill's arms and turned him over, punching him in the face as well. "I ain't gonna die for you, Bill! I wasn't gonna die for your wife and I ain't gonna die for this girl! Smarten up, old man."

Leaving Bill on the floor breathing heavily, Francis stood up and wiped the blood that trailed from his lip. He looked over at Zoey, who grabbed her rifle and pointed it at him, gritting her teeth. "You cold-hearted bastard!" she spat. "This is what's wrong with the world today. It's people like you that run around doing and acting and saying whatever you want that made this happen. We're _human_! Can't you see that?"

"His wife is dead because he had to come here and see if you were still alive! I wanted to leave you here, but those two had to press on about being human and what's right and all that shit, and _look_! What has it gotten us? We're almost outta bullets, his wife's dead, and for _what_? We shoulda left you here to die! And now you're tellin' me that I'm supposed to trust you even though you're bitten? Even with all that's happening? No, it's _animals_ that survive now. The minute you act or think like a human, you're dead. And like I told him, I _ain't_ gonna die, especially not for you."

Zoey's glanced over at Bill, who was now sitting up and brushing his hand against his cheek. "Is that true, sir? About your wife? About coming here? Is it true?"

Bill sighed and nodded his head. "Yeah, it's true. Beatrice wanted to come here to come get you, and we lost her about twenty minutes ago. She wasn't immune like us."

"What makes you think you're immune?" she asked.

"All thing's considered, we know that people start to turn within minutes to an hour after being bitten, though it's said that some people take a little longer for the infection to take over. Francis there was bitten yesterday as well, and I didn't realize I was scratched until hours later. We haven't shown any signs and weren't like the people who were bitten, Beatrice included. And if it is an infection, people are bound to be immune. I guess we pulled the long straw on this one."

"Francis, right?" Zoey asked, lowering her rifle. "I know that you don't trust me and I don't trust you, so I can't really blame you for that. But three pairs of hands are better than two, and I'm small so I may come in handy in some tight places. And if I start to turn, you can shoot me yourself."

"Don't think I won't," he muttered, looking away and picking up his shotgun. He passed Bill and muttered, "We'll deal with each other when we get out of the city. But just so you know, you have a mean right hook for an old man. I can see why you survived as long as you have."

Bill didn't say anything, instead just nodding. He didn't want to spend any more time with Francis than he needed to, but he _did_ need him, no matter how much he told himself he didn't. And Zoey was right; three pairs of hands were better than two, and Francis' animalistic nature could very well pull them out of a tight pinch sometime in the future. The thought of him disrespecting his wife was still fresh in his mind, and he mustered all he could to contain his rage.

Shrieks were heard in the hallway; the shotgun blast must have alerted the horde. The sound of massive amounts of footsteps heading toward their direction could be heard.

"We'll worry about all that later!" Zoey yelled. "Follow me! I know how to get out of here!"

She immediately took off into the hallway, making an immediate right as soon as she exited the room, Francis and Bill close behind. When Bill shot a look back, he noticed that a door had exploded off its hinges and about a dozen infected piled into the small corridor, tripping over one another in hungry delight.

"Shit! They're right behind us!" Bill shouted, watching as Zoey stopped dead in her tracks and took aim with her rifle.

_Kapow! Kapow!_

The echoes of two shots rang throughout Bill's eardrums. He forced a look back and saw that two of the lead infected had clean bullet holes in their faces, the two infected slumping to the ground, stopping the other infected dead in their tracks as they tripped over them.

"Take a left down the emergency staircase!" Zoey yelled, watching Francis open the door and waiting for the other two to pile in before thrusting his heavy body against the door to shut it.

"We need to block the door with something," Bill said, thrusting his own body into the door as well, the door opening and closing, the two men barely able to contain the ten of so carriers that were on the other side. "Grab that chair over there!" Bill ordered, watching Zoey quickly grab the chair and bringing it over to Bill, who grabbed it and slammed it under the knob, jamming it.

When he let go, the door was still getting banged on, but the chair held for the time being. "Come on!" Zoey beckoned, running down the stairs, the sounds of the banging door echoing throughout the stairway. "There's an exit on this floor that should bring us back outside. Once we get there, it's a straight shot to a warehouse down the road, and we can hole out there for a while before we come up with some strategy."

"Sounds good to me!" Bill breathed, wincing at the pain his leg was giving him.

Suddenly, the door that was jammed burst open, and the hungry cries of the infected echoed in the stairway, some of them falling down the stairway on the way down. But by the time the infected had reached them, the trio opened the other emergency staircase exit and were hiding on the other side of it, trying hard not to breathe heavily, listening to the sounds of the infected dissipating with each passing second. The three let out sighs of relief, Zoey putting her head against Francis' shoulder. Francis looked over at Bill and winked, grinning his grin.

Bill shook his head.

"Come on, we need to get going," Bill said, looking through the glass of the emergency exit and watching as the last of the infected continued to run further downstairs into the basement. "That's the last of 'em," he said, helping Zoey up. "Where'd you say this warehouse was, missy?"

"Just down the road from here, about ten minutes away. I heard gunshots from time to time, so somebody might still be alive. It's a warehouse used to transport freight storage."

"Well, what more choice do we have?" Bill asked, slinging his shotgun over his shoulder, watching to make sure none of the infected were in sight. "Who taught you how to shoot that rifle, Zoey? You're better than some of the men I served with in Nam."

"My dad taught me. He used to take me hunting with him all the time."

Before Bill could answer, Zoey lowered her head and seemed to tune herself out.

"I killed him yesterday."

_{break}_

_My numbers were back to three. I was happy that Francis and I were successful in finding Zoey and getting her out of the University safely. Our next destination was this warehouse she was speaking of, and if it was meant to store freight shipments, then they could very well have things that we can use or eat. If there was, that would be the first time luck has reared its ugly head since the world ended._

_- Sergeant William Overbeck, United States Army (Ret.)_


	5. Hero Closet

Pre-Chapter Author's Note: Thanks for all who have been reading and who are reviewing. I'm going to take this time to address some questions you reviewers have about the story, which I'm more than happy to answer.

In regards to Zoey putting her head on Francis' shoulder, I meant that more as her doing it as relief that they weren't found by the horde, not because she has any attraction to Francis. But in the progress of a story, who knows where it'll end up with those two. You never know, although I'm more in favor of no romance between the two. And Francis grinning after she put her head on him is Francis being Francis. He's just a jerk, haha, and he expresses it constantly, and sometimes, hilariously.

In regards to more Easter Eggs in the story, yes, there will be more, including the explanation of Francis' haircut, among other things. We'll see if they make enough sense to put into the story.

In terms of the special infected coming two weeks after the outbreak. It seems very possible and likely that this is what actually happened, but in the context of the story and the game, the player is thrust into the situation right away, and even playing No Mercy, the first campaign, all of the survivors know the names of the special infected and what they do, showing no surprise. I feel that they encountered them earlier, albeit not much in number, and in the two weeks more of them have sprung up. Not to mention, they've been holed out in the warehouse for the past two weeks (see Chapter 1 – Outbreak) so I think in that regard it makes sense.

Thanks for actually liking the Zoey I portray in the story. A lot of stories on this board show her as a damsel in distress as one of my reviewers pointed out, and I believe that's entirely false. Her personality in-game shows her being very brave and often putting herself in harm's way to protect the other survivors. I don't believe that being a woman automatically makes you a coward, and this is coming from a male perspective. If I had to pick a wimp for the survivors, it'd be Louis to some degree, hands down. He seems like the "everyman" of L4D, the guy each and every one of us can identify with on an emotional and physical approach.

Hope that clears some stuff up for you and I'm so glad so many of you are taking an interest in the story. Keep it up, guys!

V

Hero Closet

Bill, Francis, and Zoey cautiously entered the warehouse's back entrance. Bill pushed the muzzle of his shotgun into the crack of the already opened door and slowly opened it, welcomed by a smell of rotten flesh and blood. He turned to face the other two and cringed, shaking his head.

"Doesn't look like this place is any safer than anywhere else in the city," he said. "But we might as well take a look around to see if there's anything we can use, maybe find some food or weapons; I'm starving."

"That makes two of us, old man," Francis replied. "I hate skipping lunch or dinner."

Zoey didn't say anything, instead just brushing past the two men and peeking inside herself. She led the trio into the dimly lit warehouse that housed many crates of items, from furniture to barbecues and so forth. It didn't seem that any of these crates housed anything that could be of any potential use for the survivors, to their dismay.

"Shit," Zoey breathed, rounding a corner. What lay before her was a man with multiple bite wounds alongside his neck and arms reaching a hand out for her. "Hold on!" she yelled, dropping her hunting rifle beside the man, trying all she could to stop the bleeding by applying pressure to his wounds.

"What are ya doin'?" Bill asked. "You don't know what this guy's got! You're only gonna kill him quicker!"

The man coughed and closed his eyes. "Checkpoint…" he breathed, coughing once again. "Overrun…all dead inside."

"Checkpoint?" Bill asked aloud. "The military was here?" He had remembered that the news was talking about several military checkpoints set around the city and some set outside the city in case any survivors managed to escape, but he has yet to encounter any of them. "Do you have weapons here?"

The man, Private Jennings, according to his rank patch as well as his uniform, nodded. "Don't know…how much we got…left…"

Bill kneeled down beside Jennings and helped him sit up, placing him against a crate for support. "Tell me, son, what happened to you? Are you sure everybody in here is dead? Are you absolutely certain?"

Jennings shook his head. "I'm not sure…" he coughed again, this time blood escaping his lips, splashing Bill's face. "Some civvies made their way here when we came from the university yesterday. We had a perimeter already set, but we didn't know some of them were infected… They…they k-killed the other civilians, but before we could react, we got hit from all sides. These things…we underestimated them… T-they know what they're doing, to some degree."

Jennings took another deep breath. "I was with another guy here, a civvie…black guy. He got bit, didn't know what to do. Didn't wanna kill 'em so…locked him…in closet upstairs…said I'd be back for him once I cleared the warehouse out. Then…this _thing_ came…"

"Zombie?"

Jennings shook his head. "No…was a woman. Thought she was alive, heard her cryin'. Went up to her and she knocked me down before running away. The zombies came before I could get up, killed them all with my sidearm…but they bit me good."

Bill immediately thought of Beatrice. It could have been very possible that once she left the office building she, Bill and Francis were in, she managed to run all the way here, helping in the ambush on the warehouse. Bill shuddered to think that his wife could very well be in here, and that he may have to kill her if she got in their way.

Or kill her either way.

"How did you end up here?" Bill asked.

"Tried to…send out a transmission, tried to get some backup…but the radio's fried, nothing but white noise." Jennings coughed again and shook his head. "Everyone's dead. We're all dead. Crawled my way down here, couldn't move any more…"

Bill nodded and pet Jennings on the shoulder, turning around and looking at Francis who put his thumb across his throat, telling Bill that he should execute Jennings. But Bill's heart couldn't take the grief from it, especially knowing that the boy didn't look to be any older than twenty years old.

He was almost as young as his son.

"Kill me…" Jennings said, coughing once more. "It hurts so much, sir. I can't take it anymore, the burning…the hunger…I feel it. It's not much longer now, sir. Kill me while I'm human… Please…"

Bill's eyes frowned as he looked back over to Jennings, who looked at Bill straight in the eyes and nodded, showing Bill that he understood his discontent with killing a 'human', but also showing that euthanizing him would be considered the greatest gift any one has ever given him.

"Are you sure you don't want me to wait until you turn, Private?" Bill asked. "I don't know how comfortable I am with killing you while you're conscious of it."

Jennings nodded. "You'll find what's left of the weapon stash upstairs… My rifle should still be somewhere in the warehouse, and make sure you check in on that guy who's locked upstairs. He had a weapon with him, too. Left it outside of the closet in case he got out and he wasn't infected."

"Copy that," Bill said, standing up and grabbing Francis' 9mm; as awful as the situation he was in was, he didn't want to waste any shotgun shells or .45 rounds; they may have further use for them some other time. Bill cocked the 9mm and pointed it at Jennings forehead. "You made your country proud, son," he said. "Uncle Sam would've been proud of you."

Jennings grinned and lowered his head, the bullet entering the top of his skull and exiting the back of his neck. His body slumped to the side, and the once handsome Jennings was another bloody pile on the floor, his blood pooling beneath him. Bill rummaged through Jennings' pockets and relinquished his 9mm and handed it off to Zoey, who nervously, and sadly, accepted it and fastened it in the back of her pants.

"Let's go," Bill sighed, looking at Jennings body once more before pressing past him. "We need to clear out the warehouse first before we start looking for any supplies. Francis, I need you to lock the door we came from and bar it with something—anything—just so we don't end up like these sorry sons of bitches."

Francis rolled his eyes and reluctantly complied, locking the door and baring it with one of the pieces of furniture that was nearby. He stepped over Jennings body and slung his shotgun over his shoulder, covering his nose. "Jesus, poor bastard," he muttered to himself, catching up to Zoey and Bill.

The three of them rounded the corner near the staircase in front of them and saw two infected swaying around in the distance, not bothering to even look at them, possibly unaware that they were even there. Bill nodded over to Francis, and the two advanced slowly, Bill taking out his machete and cutting down the first one in one swipe, almost severing its neck from its shoulder. Francis knocked the other one to the ground with his shotgun and pressed his large boot on its neck, the infected attempting to claw at him with its arms, before suddenly having the top portion of its head chopped off by Bill's machete.

"Fucker," Francis spat, giving the infected a kick in the ribs. "How many more of 'em you think are in here? I hate having to kill these guys; it's too much work."

"You better get used to it, Francis," Bill said, cleaning the blood off his machete with the dead carrier's shirt. "And according to Jennings, I think that we're gonna have to bash in more of these guys before we clean up."

Zoey stood at the bottom of the steps and waited for Bill and Francis to reach her before she slowly ascended the steps. The steel steps gave off a slight clang as each step was touched, echoing in the empty warehouse. Zoey winced as she climbed each step, gritting her teeth, knowing that any infected nearby would hear their ascent.

A shriek mere feet away from Zoey saw an infected woman rushing toward her, greeted by a blast to her face from Francis' shotgun, the woman flailing and falling over the railing, landing not too far from Jennings' corpse. Zoey turned to Francis and his still smoking stock and nodded, showing her gratitude.

More shouts and moans were echoing inside the warehouse, but the echoes made it difficult to tell exactly where the moans and shouts were coming from. Immediately, both sides of the staircase were being compromised, the infected flooding each side.

"Switch sides!" Bill yelled, rushing in front of Francis and Zoey and covering the top of the stairs while Francis and Zoey fired upon the rear. More than a dozen of the infected succumbed to the well-aimed shots of the survivors.

"That all of 'em?" Bill asked, reloading his shotgun.

"Looks like it," Zoey answered, following Bill to the top of the steps. They turned a quick right and heard what sounded like banging coming from a closet nearby.

"Hey! Anybody out there? Jennings! You out there?"

Bill put a finger to his lips and walked over to the door. He looked to the floor and saw an Uzi 9mm lying on the ground; it was the weapon Jennings was talking about earlier. "I'm gonna let you out, son, but I need you to put your hands in the air when I do, all right? I got two armed men out here with me and we won't hesitate to fire if you pull anything."

"Two men?" Zoey asked Francis.

"Yeah, to intimidate. Who the hell would be scared of a little pony-tailed freak like you? I sure wouldn't be."

Zoey exhaled and shook her head. "Whatever."

Bill unlocked the door with one hand and had the other one trained on his shotgun. He opened the door and saw a man wearing black slacks, a white collared shirt with a red tie and dress shoes come out of the closet with his hands up, as ordered.

"Don't shoot me, man! Come on! I ain't done shit!"

"Shut up!" Bill said, perking his ears, listening to the moans of the infected getting louder.

"Shiiiit! They're here! They're coming!" the man in the closet yelled, alerting the horde once again.

"Shut the fuck up!" Francis hissed, cocking his shotgun at the man. "I hate loudmouths like you who piss at ever single noise and stir you hear. Don't know how you're still alive, and I don't care, but you better shut your mouth before I mess your shit up."

"Whoa, calm down, Nazi," the man insulted. "Bet you ain't tough without that gun."

Francis lowered his shotgun and handed it to Zoey. He then flexed his fingers and cracked his knuckles, advancing on the man.

The man put his hands up once again. "Whoa, whoa! Okay, okay, so you're tough without your gun! Shiiiit!"

The infected ran from the third floor of the warehouse into the tightly cramped stairway of the second floor, which is where they all were.

"You see what happens when you don't keep your trap shut?" Bill shouted, cocking his shotgun and firing at the horde making their way to them. In mere seconds the firefight was over, and another dozen infected were lying in a heap in front of them.

The man quickly reached for his Uzi 9mm and pointed it at Francis. "Yeah, what now? I got a gun too! Now let's see who's tough enough to pull the trigger, 'cause with all the shit I've seen, I ain't all there in my head! You skinhead-Nazi son of a bitch."

Francis cocked his shotgun and Bill put his hand up. "Enough, Francis! And you, too! You'd still be in there, or dinner, if we hadn't let you out!"

The man shook his head before lowering his Uzi. He rubbed his head and felt the sting of pain and warm blood from the wound. "Where's Jennings? I'm gonna kill him for doing this to me."

"He's dead," Bill answered. The closet man gulped. "Put him down not ten minutes ago. Told me that you were up here and to let you out. Said he put you in here because he didn't want to kill you and thought he'd come back later on to see if you were infected. He died trying to clear out the warehouse, making it safe for you and him."

"Shit," the man sighed, closing his eyes. "It's true, though. One of these things bit me few hours back, but I'm fine; I don't feel nothin'. It just hurts a lot."

"Think he might be immune?" Zoey asked.

Bill shrugged his shoulders. "Who knows? But we're gonna have to quarantine him until we're absolutely certain."

"I ain't going back into the closet, man! No way I'm gettin' cooped up in there waiting to get slaughtered by one of these things. If I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die with my finger on the trigger."

"Brave words from such a cowardly man," Bill spat, shaking his head. "Have you even used that thing on anybody?" he asked, referring to the Uzi. "When I picked it up it wasn't hot, didn't seem like it was used before."

"No, I haven't, but that don't mean that I won't if I need to," the man answered. "And what the hell do you mean, cowardly?"

Bill shook his head. "Forget it," he said, waving his hand. "My name's Bill. The _Nazi_ over there is Francis, and the girl's name if Zoey. Figure I might as well call you by name instead of calling you Closet Man."

"Name's Louis," the man answered, scratching his beard. "Came here when the military went over to the college, followed them here with my sister and my mother. Didn't know that my sis was bitten before we made our way here, bit me when she turned, and killed my mother. She was the first to turn and attacked the military. But by then, some of the others turned also, even some of the dead Army guys. Me, Jennings and some of the others managed to drive most of them out or kill them before most of us were killed off. I grabbed one of the guys' Uzi and Jennings knocked me out when he found out I was bit. Woke up when I heard the gunshots."

"We didn't ask for you life story. Jesus." Francis brushed past Louis, knocking his shoulder into Louis' chest, and walked further. "If you ladies are done conversing, we need to check out the rest of this warehouse."

Bill nodded and motioned for Louis to go in front of him. "Sorry, son," he said, "but we need to be careful, you know? Just in case something happens and we need to act quickly. Nothing personal."

"Can I at least keep my gun?" he asked.

"I'm more inclined to say no," Bill said, "but I'll let you hold onto it in case we need an extra pair of hands. Just know that if you try to pull anything, there are two others that'll blast ya to Hell and back. And don't underestimate Zoey over there; she's a crack shot, almost as good as me. So keep a cool head."

Louis shrugged his shoulders and walked in front of Bill. The foursome ascended the staircase at the end of the stairway and found that no other infected were present. The room was pitch black, and the sounds of crying filled the room.

"Someone in there?" Louis asked. "Sounds like a woman crying."

Francis looked over at Bill, who swallowed hard and nodded.

"We aren't going in until we can find some sort of light switch or flashlight around," Bill said. "In the time that you were here, did you run across a fuse box or a flashlight or anything that we can use to light this place up?"

"Yeah, downstairs," Louis answered. "The guards had a couple of flashlights downstairs with some of the weapons. Not sure if they're still there though."

Upon inspecting the area that Louis was speaking of, Bill found that there were enough flashlights for all of them. At the moment, though, Bill was more focused on finding the Witch before scouring around for more weapons. They had enough firepower to take out the Witch if she attacked.

At least, he thought they did.

Back upstairs, the flashlight shining brightly, Bill cocked his shotgun and proceeded to walk over to the sounds of the crying. His heart began to race, the sweat was trickling down his back, the thought of killing Beatrice fresh and strong in his mind. He swallowed hard and shone the flashlight in the direction of the crying. The light shone above the Witch, not directly on her, and the Witch stood up, growling loudly.

Bill had a thought. He moved the flashlight over to the right and the Witch slowly sat back down once again and began to cry.

"Looks like they're affected by the light," Bill whispered to Francis. "We shine it on her, she stands up. She stays in darkness, she won't attack, but—"

"What are you guys whispering about?" Louis asked, shining the flashlight in front of him, the beam of light hitting her square in the face. She stood up and shrieked, throwing her head back into what looked to be a howl, and ran toward Louis.

"Shiiiit!" he screamed, running backwards away from the advancing Witch. The Witch brushed past Francis and Bill, smacked Zoey against the wall, and proceeded to run after Louis, who ran into the closet he was locked in previously. The Witch stood outside even as Francis, Zoey and Bill ran down the stairs, pounding on the door with all her might.

"She didn't even notice us," Bill whispered, walking over to the Witch. He put his shoulder against the wall by the closet and fired once at the Witch's head. Brain matter expelled from her left temple and the woman collapsed to the floor, one of her claws deep into the door.

Bill pried her arm from the door and opened the closet door for Louis, who was breathing heavily.

"Looks like Her Majesty got crowned," Francis laughed. He looked at Bill and cleared his throat. "Is it your old lady, Bill?"

Bill turned the Witch over and studied her face. Although it was grotesquely mutated, it didn't bear any resemblance to Beatrice. He also searched her neck for the necklace Bill gave Beatrice, half praying he found it and half praying he didn't.

She wasn't wearing any locket.

"No, it isn't her," Bill answered.

"You mean that there's more than one of 'em walking around?" Francis asked.

"I'm afraid so," Bill answered.

"What are you guys talking about?" Louis asked.

"Long story. First, we need to get some work done."

It took hours for the three to load all the bodies of the dead infected into the closet Louis was barricaded in. They didn't dare open the door to the outside of the warehouse in case there were any more of the infected outside. The four survivors combed the entire first and second floor for supplies, finding another 9mm handgun and shotgun shells for Bill and Francis' shotguns. But the real gift came upon inspecting the third floor. Once they searched for a light switch and found one, Bill found Jennings' M16 nestled in the exact corner the Witch was in. It was as if she was guarding it.

"What is it?" Zoey asked.

"M16 assault rifle; this shit's gettin' more like Nam every second," Bill answered, removing the magazine. "There was more ammo downstairs for this baby, so looks like I won't be needing this shotgun anymore. Francis, you can strip it and take the ammo for yourself. Zoey, try to see if you can find some food downstairs, but be careful. Think you can handle that?"

"You got it."

"All right, Louis, you're with me until Zoey gets back."

"Should we really let her go by herself?" Louis asked. "I know you don't trust me still and all, but we can't let the girl go by herself. If you're so worried about me, how about I give you my Uzi and let me help her search. Two pairs of eyes are better than one."

Bill scratched his beard. "All right, hand me the Uzi. If you two hear anything, don't hesitate to holler for help. Francis and I will be upstairs if you need us."

Zoey and Louis headed downstairs while Bill and Francis headed upstairs. Francis parked himself by a window overlooking a portion of the city. The outskirts showed burning buildings and cars, as well as some straggling infected that were wandering the streets.

"How it lookin' out there?" Bill asked.

"Shitty, Bill. Real shitty." A moment of silence passed between the two, Francis detailing Bill's shotgun to take the remaining shells for himself. "So…you glad that Witch downstairs wasn't your old lady?" he asked.

Bill sat silently for a second. "I'm not sure, really," he answered. "Part of me was hoping it was and part of me was praying it wasn't. I don't think I have it in me to kill her if it came down to it."

"But it's all right for you to kill others because you don't know them? I hate hypocrites, Bill."

"Hey, we found some food downstairs. It's not much; all they had down there were a couple loaves of bread and peanut butter. We found some cola downstairs too. Figured that's what everyone would want; caffeine'll keep us awake in case we need to keep watch."

"Good thinking, Zoey," Bill acknowledged, smiling. "That's something we'll have to discuss. We may have to be here for a while until the government starts clearing this place out. If that's not the case, then this place seems pretty secure for us to hole out for a while before we can come up with some plan."

"Where are we gonna sleep?" Louis asked.

"Right here, on the floor," Bill answered. "And here," he said, handing Louis his Uzi. "If you were going to try anything you would have done it by now, and you don't look the type to murder people like some psycho. Thank Jennings for the credible information."

Louis nodded and sat down. "So," he said, "what was the wife talk about earlier?"

Upon explaining the story behind Beatrice and her transformation, Louis and Zoey's faces sank, Zoey's more so because she felt that Beatrice's death was somewhat caused by trying to save her.

"Well, we should get some sleep," Bill said, yawning. "Zoey, you mind taking first watch? I'll take over for you in a few hours; just be sure to wake me if I don't wake myself."

Zoey nodded. "Got it."

A few hours later, the darkness seeping into the top floor of the warehouse, Bill awoke and stretched, walking over to Zoey, who was sitting by the window looking outside. "You can take a rest, Zoey; my turn to watch."

Zoey nodded. "Yeah," she yawned. "Hey, Bill. I'm really sorry about Beatrice. I didn't mean for her to lose her life by convincing you guys to come get me."

Bill smiled and shook his head. "Beatrice was always the type that wanted to help others, like me. No way I was going to let you rot in that room while the three of us escaped, knowing full well that we'd be leaving someone behind."

"What was she like?" Zoey asked, Bill joining her by the window.

"She was beautiful; eyes as blue as the sea. You know, she waited for me while I was doing my tour in Vietnam. So many women back in the 60's were so unfaithful to their husbands or boyfriends who were overseas fighting, but I knew my Beatrice was waiting for me to come home."

"And how do you know that? Did she tell you?"

Bill shook his head. "Didn't have to. I could see in her eyes the person she was and knew that she was going to be the woman I was going to marry. You'd have to look real hard to find a woman like Beatrice nowadays; much like it was back then. She was what I was fighting for, what I wanted to survive for, and I guess my leg blowing out was God's way of telling me that I wasn't meant to die in the jungle. He had better hopes for me, I guess, to endure this Hell."

"You have any kids?"

"Yeah, one. He's right around your age, too. A chip off the old block, he is. Just like his old man in every way: looks, attitude, and stubbornness."

Bill laughed lightly, thinking of his son, thinking of where he was and what he was doing that very instant. Was he safe where he was? Was he trying to call his parents for the sake of calling them, to hear about their day?

"Doesn't sound like a bad guy, especially if he looks like you," Zoey playfully said, knocking her shoulder into his. "What's his name?"

"His name's Ma—ah, what's the point? Who knows where he is or if he's safe right now? We have no idea of knowing if this infection spread further than our town."

"I'm sure he's fine wherever he is, Bill. I'm sure you taught him how to survive."

Bill grinned a sad grin and watched Zoey fall asleep.

He then wiped a tear that fell from his eye.

- - -

One week later, Bill, Louis and Francis were in the showers, in the employee locker room. Francis took out a razor and shaved his head and groomed his goatee.

"Why do you keep shaving your head?" Louis asked, drying his hair with his towel. The bandage that they fastened to his head from Jennings' attack scabbed and fell off in the middle of his shower.

"Had hair that reached my shoulders about a week or so back. Saw one of those fuckers take down one of my biker brothers by the hair. First opportunity I had, I bic'd my hair right off; didn't want for it to end like that."

When he was done with his conversation, Francis left the locker room and left his razor in the shower.

Louis came out of the locker room showers bald and clean-shaven.

"How about it, old man?" Francis asked. "You gonna shave your head too?"

Bill put his Beret back on. "Son, if I'm going to die, I'm at least going to die looking halfway decent. No way am I going to shave my head like some sort of Neo Nazi or bad stereotype."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Louis asked, grinning. "You calling me a stereotype?"

"I'm just sayin'," Bill said, shrugging his shoulders.

- - -

A few days later, atop their third floor sanctuary, after eating a dinner comprised of peanut butter bread once again, the survivors were startled by a loud thud outside of the warehouse. When they went to the window to investigate, thinking that it was the military coming to save them after all this time, they were disappointed to see that an overly-sized behemoth walked away from the warehouse. It looked like one of the regular infected, although this one looked like a body builders dream come true; it had muscles upon muscles, and walked on his knuckles like a gorilla.

"Shiiit," Louis exclaimed. "That bitch's a Tank!"

- - -

"No! No! No! Fire, men! Fire!" Bill exclaimed, then feeling a powerful grip over his mouth, causing his eyes to dart open and grab his assailant. When he fixed his eyes, he saw that it was Francis.

"Shh!" he hissed. "What are you trying to do? Wake up the entire fucking neighborhood?"

"Sorry," Bill muffled. "How long was I out?"

"About an hour," Francis answered. "Hey, Bill, I was thinking. We've been in this warehouse for two weeks now, and no help came. You think we should just, I don't know, take off? We don't have no more food. And I hate starvin'."

"Yeah. Yeah." Bill nodded. "We need to move."

- - -

_All this isolation was making me forget just how awful the outside world was now, and the last thing I wanted to be was desensitized to it. I had to come up with some plan of action, had to come up with some route that the four of us could follow to get out of the city…or at least further away from where we were. I found it ironic that the infected and us had something in common after all…we were all starving._

_- Sergeant William Overbeck, United States Army (Ret.)_

- - -

Author's Note: Here's another segment for you guys. I hope you enjoyed it. If you guys don't understand the ending, if you remember, in the first chapter, Bill drifted off to sleep and the events of the story started from there. I merely picked up from the beginning: Bill's awakening meant 2 weeks had passed since the beginning of the story.

Also, sorry if this seemed a little rushed; if it did seem so, I didn't mean for it to be. Please R&R when reading to let me know what you guys think about it. Also, if you guys seemed quite confused by Louis' appearance, I modeled his appearance as his beta appearance, with the beard and full head of hair, as well as the bandage on his forehead (which I claim is caused by Jennings). Francis' quick explanation about how he used to have long hair was also taken from the beta apperance he was supposed to originally have. Hope that clears some stuff up for you if you were confused.

P.S. I will be going away for vacation for a week in a few days, so as an added bonus, I have written ¾ of the next chapter and will post it in a day or so. Remember to review that as well; I'm hoping to come home to some reviews!

Stay well, faithful readers.


	6. Crossing the Street

VI

Crossing the Street

"What do you think we should do?" Louis asked. "Francis' right; we don't have any more food, and if help was coming, they would've made some sort of impact by now to let us know that. We don't know how far this infection has spread."

"Yeah, the gunshots have been dying out over the past few days," Zoey interjected. "If the military was going to make a stand, they probably have already…and failed. It's no use for the four of us to wait in here until we get killed by them or starve to death."

Bill scratched his beard and rested his M16 against his shoulder, lighting a cigarette from a pack he had found in the break room. "You're all more than right," he said, exhaling the smoke in his lungs. "I don't like the idea of the four of us not being used to the violence outside, as awful as that sounds. The last thing we need to be is sensitive to our situation."

"Situation's a funny word to use," Louis said. "More like dilemma. But if we're going to be heading out there, I think we need to be prepared first."

"Aren't we prepared enough?" Francis asked, slinging his shotgun over his shoulder. "What else do we need?"

"Follow me," Louis said, walking downstairs to the first floor. "They had a lot of supplies in here when the military took over. I think we can make ourselves some explosives with some of the things in here."

When the foursome reached the lowest level of the warehouse, Louis opened one of the crates by the entrance, almost the exact place where Bill and the others found Jennings two weeks prior. He rummaged through the crate and took out a few bottles of alcohol.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Francis yelled. "You tellin' me that there was _booze_ in here this whole time and you didn't say anything? Jesus, man!"

"I didn't tell you because I knew that you were going to end up drinking it," Louis answered. "Follow me back upstairs; I want to show you what I mean."

Louis led the others to the closet that housed the dead infected and Jennings. He covered his nose as he stepped in and tore a piece of a woman's blouse and walked back out. He unscrewed the cap of the liquor and stuffed the piece of the blouse in the mouth of the bottle.

"What we have here is a classic Molotov Cocktail, people. Light the rag, let it run for a few seconds, throw it at whatever you want and enjoy the show. Now, I'm not sure how effective this thing is with the infected outside, but when I saw one of them burn, it fell over itself immediately. Forgot about its target, just burned. Maybe we could use this to our advantage. You never know when we might need to control a horde."

"What'd you say you did before all this happened?" Bill asked. "Seems like a pretty unusual thing for a white-collared guy like you to know."

"Junior Systems Analyst for my company's IT department. I'm pretty good with computers, had to convince some pretty big-headed people to buy our software and hardware, among other things. But that's beside the point. Look, I'm sure all of you guys know how to make a Molotov or what a Molotov is, but that's not even the best part."

"There's more?" Bill asked.

"Yep," Louis nodded. "Selling technology also made me know how to make it work. I had to know the inside and outside of a machine and what each part does, how they work and how they could potentially break. Doing some research one day, I found out how to make a self-made grenade, along with some help from the internet."

"Like the M67?" Bill asked. When he got a puzzled look from the other survivors, he shrugged his shoulder and said, "Pineapple grenade."

Louis shook his head. "This one's better than that, especially if my theory's correct. When I opened my mouth, the infected came running, right? So that means that they're prone to noise. To further prove my point, I remember Bill telling me that some of the infected didn't even pay attention to him when he was passing by, possibly because they were unaware of their surroundings, or possibly because there was little to no noise to stir them up. I'm hoping that this can help us figure it out."

"What are you planning to do?" Zoey asked.

"Hold up," Louis said, rummaging through some of the crates that were on the first floor. "One of these crates has smoke detectors in it. When a smoke detector senses smoke, what does it do? It beeps, very loudly. Here they are! Now, when I pry it apart," Louis began, ripping apart the wires of the smoke detector and playing with the wires. He then walked toward another crate and pulled out a steel pipe, taping the hacked up smoke detector to it.

"Is it going to explode?" Bill asked.

"There's no catalyst in the pipe. That's what the gunpowder is for." He walked upstairs to the third floor and opened the window. "Hand me your lighter, Bill," Louis said, lighting the piece of rag he took from the infected woman downstairs. When the rag took, the smoke sounded the smoke detector, which beeped.

Louis threw the pipe detector as far as he could, and the surrounding infected swarmed to it, falling on top of one another, until they finally clawed at it enough for the device to shut off.

"Now picture that, but with a big bang," Louis said. "We have a few more of those smoke detectors downstairs, and a few more steel pipes. We can gut some of the shotgun shells we have to fill some of the pipes just in case we need to use the real thing, and we have enough liquor downstairs for each of us to carry a few Molotov's each."

"We may be able to carry one of each so we don't get so weighed down," Bill ordered. "Louis, the sooner we get some of these Pipe Bombs and Molotovs going, the sooner we'll be able to get the hell out of here. Think you can handle getting the supplies together quickly?"

Louis nodded. "Yeah, it won't take long so long as I got another pair of hands with me." He looked over at Zoey. "Think you can give me a hand, Zoey? I want to see if I can find some caps to the bottoms of the pipes so I won't have to tape them."

"Yeah, I'll give you a hand," Zoey answered.

"Francis, think you can give me a few of your shells so I can load up the pipe?"

Francis recoiled at first, unsure what to make of the idea of using "grenades", but he had seen what the pip detector did upstairs with the infected, and if there was a bang, there would've been more than a dozen dead infected, which is more than he'd kill with the shells he'd hand over. And he was willing to make that sacrifice…if it worked.

"Yeah, take 'em. You better be sure that this shit's gonna work, Lou; I hate bein' wasteful."

"Don't worry," Louis said. "It'll work."

In less than an hour, Louis and Zoey made the Molotov Cocktails and make-shift Pipe Bombs, though there was only enough gunpowder for two of them, which Zoey and Louis took. Louis also fastened a few more of the steel pipes and caps into his belt, just in case they ended up using them quicker than they thought.

"Okay," Bill said, "it's gettin' dark out there, and I'd prefer moving during the night so we won't be so out in the open. But before we go, I need an inventory check. Flashlights?"

"Check," Zoey said, flicking hers on and off.

"Molotov Cocktails, Pipebombs, and Lighters?"

"Check," Louis said, checking his belt. "Used some wicks from the candles that were downstairs with the supplies. Made them real short though, so as soon as you light those things, throw 'em. Fuse is set to last five to ten seconds, so you better have some good aim. And good thing most of the infected were smokers before all this shit happened. Got a few packs for you too, Bill."

"Thank God. We got the guns and ammunitions?" Bill asked.

"Old man, you know we got everything. I think we should pile the hell out of here and get a move on. Zoey, you can take this handgun I got. It's making me chafe bad."

Francis handed Zoey his 9mm and she placed it along with her other, in the back of her pants.

"You know where you want to go, Bill?" Zoey asked.

"That's the thing," Bill said. "I'm not so sure. Now, I haven't been on the outside longer than any of you so I don't know where the other checkpoints are, but—"

"Down the road," Louis interrupted. "Heard Jennings talking to one of the other Army guys about them setting up some sort of perimeter by the apartments down the road toward the hospital. But with how things went down here, God only knows who's alive over there."

"All right," Bill sighed. "We seem like we have everything we need. We'll sneak out the way we came in and hug alongside the warehouse. If we see any infected not in a group, we take it down with our guns and my machete; no bullets. Lord knows we don't need a horde coming after us when we don't need to. Everyone clear?"

Bill received three nods and the foursome walked to the barricaded door, removing the furniture that was placed there over the past two weeks. Francis slowly opened the door, cringing as it screeched as it was opened, and took a peek outside.

"Coast's clear," he said, filing out and hugging the wall of the warehouse like Bill suggested.

The four managed to clear the warehouse undetected. They moved along the street and noticed many infected lumbering around further away, the infected completely oblivious that they were there. They four survivors huddled close together, Bill and Zoey watching their points while Francis and Louis protected their rear. In the distance were a series of apartment buildings, the set of apartment buildings that Louis was speaking of earlier, and the four moved their pace.

"What the hell is that?" Bill asked, looking in the distance. It looked like one of those Smokers he had run into two weeks prior, one of the beings that almost snapped Francis' neck like a twig.

Like the Witch, it seemed like they were increasing in numbers as well. But there was something different about this Smoker; the previous one Bill had run into was very tall and lanky, while this one looked like any other of the normal infected, just slightly bigger. And it seemed to notice that they were there.

"Smoker, down that street," Bill warned, the other three taking heed to what he was saying. "Smokers will pull one of us toward the infected if we aren't careful, so keep your eyes peeled for this fucker to try anything. We need to be careful here, people."

They moved further down the street, the Smoker-like infected shuffling behind a building corner, waiting for the infected. He seemed to be aware of the survivors' presence, but still acted as mindlessly as any normal infected.

With no infected in sight, Bill rushed forward along with Francis and fired upon it. The Smoker-like infected slumped against the building corner of the alley and hit the pavement face-first, his body twitching a few times before he finally stopped. The survivors walked over to him, guns raised, and Louis lowered his gun when he saw the alley they were in front of; it was littered with bodies, some of which were children.

"Shit," Louis said, covering his nose. "I can't believe it. All this shit… Oh, God, it stinks." He let his nose breathe the rotten air in order to get used to it. He would have thought that after all this time, he'd have been over the thought of death being around every corner, quite literally. But the realization that children were also in the slaughter made him want to weep.

The survivors pressed forward. Like Louis, they all seemed to close their eyes and tried not to look upon the little girl missing half her face who was still clutching her bear plush toy. Bill thought about the girl she was before she became just another corpse in an alley. She was probably full of life, full of happiness, couldn't wait for the summers to come before school was out. He thought about the man she would've fell in love with and the family she would have raised if this hadn't happened.

It made him think of Beatrice, how the two of them were looking forward to having a girl as their second child. Unfortunately, Beatrice was no longer able to bear children, and although they were heartbroken, they still had a son who they loved with all their hearts.

A son who was dead for all he knew.

"Hold up," Bill ordered, taking a knee beside the Smoker-like infected. It looked like one of the regular infected who wandered the streets, although this one seemed to have split bones in the legs and the arms, showing him to be taller than the others. His face looked like any ordinary infected, but he had what looked to be a small cloud of smoke surrounding his hair. It was mutating. "I ain't seen nothing like this before," he said, running his finger against the grime of the man's skin, running the grime between his index finger and thumb, smelling it.

Francis cringed and shook his head. "Jesus, don't let that stop you from smearing it all over yourself," he said, looking over to the right.

Bill glared at Francis annoyingly and stood up, wiping the grime along Francis' vest. "They're changing," he said, wiping both sides of his hands on Francis' vest, watching the man contort his face more times than he could count.

"Oh, Goddammit, Bill! Oh, it stinks!" Francis wailed, wiping his vest and covering his nose. Louis, who was standing right next to him, chuckled slightly and shook his head as well.

"Don't you know better by now not to annoy the old man?" Louis whispered to Francis, nudging him on the shoulder. "He's the one who was in the military, after all."

"Yeah, yeah," Francis answered, pressing onward. "_Was_."

As they moved further, they heard cries echoing nearby. All of them froze and looked at one another. Could there possibly be another survivor who managed to hold out this long like them? Was this potential survivor immune like them, crying because she thinks she's the last living soul in the city? Francis immediately looked at Bill; he knew what he was thinking. When Beatrice turned into a Witch, she couldn't stop crying. And the Witch they ran into in the warehouse was just the same as Beatrice, on her knees and crying her eyes out; it seemed as those who turned into that type of infected were only women, whether that be because the virus developed differently in a woman's body or not, they didn't know; they weren't scientists.

Bill looked to his right and heard the muffled cries coming from the door there. He swallowed hard.

"Someone's still alive," Zoey said, looking at the door, then at Bill.

"You two keep watch," Bill said to Louis and Francis. "Anybody come down that alleyway, you give us a holler and we'll be right out. Understood?"

Francis and Louis both nodded and Bill and Zoey slowly opened the door, Bill raising his assault rifle, and Zoey raising her two 9mms. "Over there," Bill whispered, Zoey turning on the flashlights on both of her 9mms. Bill looked over at Zoey and nodded, shuffling in front of her, on his knees, sure that whatever was in there that wasn't alive was going to be toast.

"Hello?" Zoey called out, scaring the hell out of Bill. "Hello?" she called out again, following behind Bill, the two of them looking upon a young woman in the corner crying. "It's okay," Zoey told the young woman, "we're gonna—"

Just then, a strike of lightning filled the room with light, and Bill caught a glimpse of the young woman: ashy skin, skinny to the bones, her ribcage prominently showing, her fingers elongated, sharp.

Just like Beatrice.

"Lights off!" Bill hissed, placing his hand on Zoey's and lowering it, the shine of the flashlight about to disturb the Witch. Now Bill knew that the Witches wouldn't attack them if they weren't provoked. They were like regular women in some way; they just needed a good cry out and didn't want to be bothered. Unfortunately for them, the "good cry out" would last for an eternity for them. Either that, or until their heads were blown off.

They both watched in horror at the abysmal sight in front of their eyes. Elsewhere, standing guard outside the door, Louis and Francis heard the sounds of dozens of footsteps and heavy breathing following them. Upon further inspection, he saw the silhouette of the infected in the distance, pressing to them quickly.

"Oh, shit!" Louis cried as he and Francis fired upon them. Louis then ran to the door Bill and Zoey were in. "Shit! Shit! Shit! They're coming!" he shouted at the top of his lungs, shining the flashlight into the room, the light hitting the Witch in the eyes. She stood up and let out a shriek, her red eyes filling the room.

"Run like hell!" Zoey shouted, running past Bill, who stood behind and shot a burst at the Witch to distract her, shutting the door in front of her to shut her in, the door denting immediately.

Louis pressed his body against the door as he saw the dent getting larger and larger. He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes, finally hearing the crash of the metal door and the Witch's hands coming through. He screamed in anger and thrust his Uzi into the hole of the door, firing.

Bill, Francis and Zoey fired against the masses, watching crimson spill against the walls and the pavement, bodies slumping over. Francis cracked one with the butt of his shotgun, the carrier's head spinning, his neck snapping.

"Yeah! Do you like that?" Bill heard Louis screaming, shooting a glance back as Louis finished the Witch off, her hand dangling from the hole in the door. Louis then joined the others in the fray.

As they were firing in front of them, they heard a loud shriek from behind them, and before they could react, a pink tentacle wrapped around Bill, sending him in the air. Bill screamed in pain, unaware where his assailant was attacking from, feeling his ribs start to snap.

Francis turned around at the sound of Bill's screams and looked up to the fire escape and noticed a Smoker dragging Bill towards him. "Hang on!" Francis shouted, taking careful aim at the Smoker with his shotgun and fired once, the scatter shot blowing the face off the Smoker, the Smoker falling back and dropping Bill to the floor.

Bill coughed as soon as he hit the floor. Francis was immediately above him, helping him up.

"Guys?" Zoey called out, reloading her pistol.

Bill, still coughing, made it to his knees and almost had his eardrums blown out when Francis fired upon an infected that was nearly upon him, then quickly turning around and blowing the torso off of an infected who was about to swipe at him.

"Merry Christmas," he grinned, handing Bill his rifle and the two joined Louis and Zoey, the four firing at the massive amount of infected coming down the alley.

"There's too many of them!" Louis screamed, changing the magazine in his Uzi.

Zoey reached for her belt and took out her Pipe Bomb. She lit the fuse and threw it as far as she could, screaming, "Fire in the hole!" They watched as the infected toppled over one another to get to the Pipe Bomb, and the four cowered for cover.

The bang sent Louis to his feet. He turned to witness the carnage and witnessed something that made his heart stop.

A helicopter.

"Hey!" he yelled, running ahead of the group and waving his arms up and down. "We're over here! We're not infected! Down here!" He ran into the street and stopped as he saw the helicopter flying in the distance. "Dammit!" he shouted, turning around and noticing what looked like a dark speck getting closer and closer.

The speck let out a shriek and Louis' eyes widened upon seeing it. A Hunter pounced on him. Louis grabbed his arms to protect himself, his Uzi far from reach. From the distance, Zoey tackled the Hunter with her shoulder and fired upon him with both her handguns, a dazed Louis pulling out his own 9mm and joining in the firefight.

The Hunter fell backward, blood escaping his lips, and landed on one of the many cars stranded on the street, setting off its alarm.

"Oh, this is gonna get bad…" Bill sighed, reloading his assault rifle, hearing the sounds of footsteps and moans from all around him. There was no where to escape from, he knew. The infected had them entirely surrounded. They fell back to a chain link fence that was currently being climbed by the infected.

They shuffled against the car with the dead Hunter to try to set up some sort of perimeter. All of their hearts were beating slowly, almost stopping. They heard a loud growl and Francis looked forward, felt the street start to rumble, and raised his shotgun, ready to fire. Behind the swarm of infected in front of them, Francis saw a car being launched in the air, crushing almost all of the infected that were about to attack their points, the car smashing against the fence behind them, crushing most of the infected climbing it as well.

In the mass of infected that regrouped in front of the survivors was a monster. The hulking beast ran through the infected, the giant grabbing some infected and throwing them afar, or smashing its way through.

It was the Tank they saw when we they in the warehouse. The only difference between the two sightings was that the survivors didn't have a huge warehouse to hide behind this time. This time, the Tank was advancing, and it looked mean, ready to rip them apart.

"Run or shoot?" Louis asked, shuffling toward the crumpled fence behind them. "Run or shoot!"

"Both!" Bill ordered, firing his assault rifle at the Tank and retreating along with the others. Down the street, they ran down another alleyway and watched as the Tank continued to tear its way through the infected that were chasing the survivors. The size of its biceps were bigger than Bill's waist.

As they ran down the alleyway, surrounded by both sides, Louis pointed to a fire escape in front of them. Fortunately, the ladder was already down. "Get to the roof!" Louis shouted, watching as Zoey jumped over a pile of debris and grabbed hold of the ladder in front of her.

"Go, go, go!" Francis ordered, taking his stand between the Tank, Louis and Bill covering his rear.

When Zoey was up the ladder, Louis jumped and grabbed hold, quickly ascending it as well.

"Come on, come on!" Francis taunted the Tank, keeping his aim trained on the hulking mass' face. When the Tank rounded the corner, Francis fired his shotgun once and blew away the carrier that ran in front of the Tank. The Tank then grabbed the dead infected and threw it on top of Francis before he could pull off another shot.

"Bill!" Louis called out, watching Bill turn around just in time to fire a burst at the Tank who was about to crush Francis with its massive hands.

It quickly took its attention off of Francis and swung a large forearm towards Bill, missing him and connected with a piece of the building, smashing a large hole in it in the process. Louis and Zoey provided covering fire from the fire escape and the rooftop respectively. The Tank dealt with this mere nuisance by grabbing a large piece of concrete and threw it at the fire escape, nearly crushing Louis as he climbed further up and almost crushing Francis as he was climbing. The fire escape was falling apart by the second, and soon it would crumble to the ground and leave Bill stranded.

Still firing at the Tank and realizing his window of opportunity was narrowly going away, Bill turned and saw an infected staring him straight in the face before being blown off by Zoey at the top of the fire escape, her angel in disguise.

"Go! I'll hold them off!" Zoey ordered, watching Bill climb the ladder and giving him appropriate cover when needed. But behind Bill was the Tank, and it was not about to let all of the survivors escape. It was satisfied with taking Bill.

As Bill reached the top, he narrowly made it to the rooftop before the fire escape crumbled by the sheer weight of the Tank. Zoey, losing her balance and one of her handguns, tried one desperate leap as the fire escape came crashing down. "Francis!" she screamed in horror, putting her arm out and was relieved that she felt his strong grip on her forearm, wincing at his sheer strength. He may be a jerk at times, but Francis was as strong as an ox.

The Tank crashed to the pavement below him and nearly crushed all of the infected underneath him. Upon further inspection, Bill noticed that the Tank was still moving, although at the moment it seemed to have been knocked unconscious.

Francis pulled Zoey on top of the rooftop with Louis' help and the three panted for air, relieved that they were safe for the time being, thankful that they were not torn to shreds by the ambush they almost fell right into.

"We made it!" Louis smiled, breathing heavily. "I can't believe we made it!"

Bill lit a cigarette and shook his head. "Son, we just crossed the street. Let's not throw a party until we're out of the city." Bill stood up and felt Louis burning him with his eyes. On the rooftop were large, white painted letters S.O.S. and a tent that held ammunition and first aid, not to mention some dead bodies of what looked to be U.S. Army personnel.

They heard the helicopter that flew past them earlier flying past them again. They saw the spot light of the helicopter and heard the cool voice of the pilot. _"If anyone can hear this, proceed to Mercy Hospital for evacuation. I repeat, proceed to Mercy Hospital for evacuation."_

Bill walked to the other side of the rooftop and looked to the street below littered with the infected. He let out a sigh and turned to the ammunition, inspecting it. "Well, at least we ended up on the right rooftop."

- - -

_I realized that I was too harsh on Louis. He was the type of person who enjoyed the victories of battles, but I was the type who enjoyed the victories of war. If things had worked any other way, none of us would be standing here now, so it seems there would be a reason to celebrate. We set out for the Mercy Hospital, hopeful that it was our one last chance to survive this horror. I thought it was ironic for the hospital to be named after something that is not given so lightly since all this started. There is no mercy._

_- Sergeant William Overbeck, United States Army (Ret.)_


	7. No Mercy: Apartments, Subway, Sewer

VII

No Mercy: The Apartments/The Subway/The Sewer

The sounds of the helicopter's rudder still echoed in Bill's ears, the sound of the pilot's cool, calm, and collected voice still fresh in his mind. He had said that there was rescue not too far from where they were, at Mercy Hospital. From what he knows, there was a helipad on top of the roof that was previously used to bring in patients who were too close to death or too far away to be transported by vehicle.

And now, they were going to use that same helipad to get _out_.

Bill caught Francis and Louis scrounging around the ammunition, using all the space their pockets and belts could spare to load up on ammunition; after all, they didn't know when the next time they'd run into ammunition would be, and the run-in with the Tank had nearly depleted their rounds. Lucky for them, the sleeping giant was still sprawled out below them, one hand over his enormous chest, a pool of blood forming beneath him from all of the infected he crushed on his way down to the pavement.

Bill joined the others at the ammunition canister, rummaging through it to find some 5.56x45mm NATO cartridges. Luckily for them, there was enough ammunition to distribute amongst themselves, and thankfully, for Zoey's rifle as well. Fortunately, her rifle uses the same type of cartridges the M16 does.

"Look at this poor sack of shit," Francis said, referring to the dead military personnel by the tent, clutching what looked to be a piece of paper. Upon further inspection, the survivors noticed that the young man's eyes had been gouged out, as well as his throat. He wasn't "fortunate" enough to become one of the infected…he just bled here and died. Francis almost wished he had turned so he wouldn't have gone through all that pain. Almost.

"Give me that piece of paper, Francis," Bill said, grabbing the sheet of paper from him. It was almost illegible because of all the blood, but Bill assumed that this young man held onto this paper for dear life in case some survivors were to come across his corpse. He couldn't help but wonder what kind of man he was before all this started, what life he lived and led. And he didn't look older than eighteen, possibly nineteen, almost the same age as Zoey.

"What's it say?" Louis asked. "Anything important?"

"Looks like it was addressed to all military personnel," Bill said. "Says here that there are certain places the military call 'safe houses'. What the hell are those?"

"I heard Jennings talk about those in the warehouse," Louis said. "He said that the U.S. Army was putting posts around the city so that civilians can be safe; there's something about the types of doors they use for them, some kind of steel, that proved to be effective against the infected. But look around us…how _safe_ could those safe houses possibly be?"

"We'll worry about that when we get to it," Bill answered. "We need to head to Mercy Hospital. If I remember correctly, we can take the subway tunnels to the hospital. There's a redline station not far from here."

"Sounds like a plan," Zoey nodded, shuffling behind Bill.

The four survivors stocked up on first-aid kits that were on the table: some ace bandages, disinfectant, medical tape, and so forth were in the kits, things that they would no doubt need in case things went to Hell. Then they headed for the only door that was on the rooftop. When opened, a staircase brought them down a rickety wooden hallway that was littered with bodies on the right side. Francis and the others had to pinch their noses to drown out the smell to some degree, though it didn't help so much.

The end of the passageway led to a kitchen area that was stained with blood: flies flew about the place, dishes in the sink were murky or broken or bloody and the refrigerator was open; a survivor or some hopeless sap must've raided the place in a last ditch effort to have some food for their journey. At one time, this apartment was beautiful, with a family sitting in the living room talking about days gone by; now the blue sofas which were once used to comfort a loving family were thrown around the living room, positioned just in front of a television that produced nothing but white noise with an ominous glow.

The staircase leading down from apartment 3 was blocked by three heavy work desks. Francis and Bill attempted to move the top desk, but found that the legs of the desk were aligned perfectly with that below it, making it extremely difficult to budge.

"What do we do?" Zoey asked.

Francis scratched his goatee and gazed into apartment 2, which was on the opposite side. "We can try to take a look in there," he said, "never know, might find an escape ladder or somethin'."

"That's about one of the smartest things I've ever heard you say," Bill laughed. "Let's follow Francis' lead, people; we may be able to get out of this apartment building yet."

The survivors walked through the door-less entrance of apartment 2 and saw that it was in much better shape than apartment 3: the wallpaper still looked mostly intact and there were few or no bloodstains present in the first hallway.

Until they entered the first room on their left. What was once a young woman's room was now her tomb. She lay on the bed face down, her skin gray and her eyes lifeless. She wore purple and pink socks, which reminded Bill of the Cheshire cat from the book Alice in Wonderland.

Upon further inspection of the body, Bill saw a bottle of pain pills in her hand, as well as a few bottles of different brands of whiskey on her night stand. "No bite marks. She took pills and drank herself to death," Bill said, shaking his head. "Poor girl." He wrenched the death grip she had on the pills and stuffed them in his pocket; there was almost half a bottle left. "What?" he asked when the survivors looked at him appallingly. "We may need these. She certainly ain't anymore."

Francis shook his head and left Bill's sight, heading towards the living room. "Jesus," he said aloud, causing Bill and the others to catch up to them. "How strong are these vampires?"

"They're zombies, Francis," Bill corrected.

"Whatever! Look at the dry wall over there. Fuckers rushed right through there, tore it apart. Maybe the girl in the bedroom did have half a mind to end it quickly and painlessly than being ripped apart. And there's some—"

No sooner had Francis said that when a tentacle came from the hole, grabbing Louis by the leg. He had no time to react before being slammed to the ground below him, the breath getting knocked out of him, that he was being dragged to the dark corridor.

"Shit!" Francis called aloud, running past Louis into the open corridor to meet the creature head-on.

"Don't run in front of us, Francis!" Bill ordered, grabbing Louis by the arms and dragging him backward. Francis was already long gone by them, and Louis was grabbing onto Bill and anything else he could hold on too for dear life.

The survivors heard a loud bang, the sound of a shotgun being fired, and the tentacle released its grip from Louis, flopping to the floor beside him. Francis came back into the room with blood caked on his vast, the stock of his shotgun still smoking.

"One of those fuckers that got me in that office building, the thing you cut," Francis said. "I told you that there's more than one of these Smokers around, and it's next to impossible to kill one by yourself when you're caught up by its tongue. We need to watch out for these things a lot more." Francis turned his gaze to Louis. "You all right?"

Louis got up and dusted himself off. "Never better," he grinned, trying not to let the fear show in his eyes. "We better get movin' before those zombies make out where they heard the shots."

Past the ripped up dry wall led to another impossible disaster: the floor in the kitchen of apartment 2 was missing. The survivors looked down the hole to see if there were any infected about, and, seeing none, each dropped down one by one, careful not to make too much noise as they did. Jumping down caused them to see yet another ripped up drywall in front of them, this one leading to the streets.

"We made it outta here," Bill smiled, cracking his neck. "Thought we were gonna be stuck in there for a while."

When the survivors headed out of the door conveniently marked exit, their smiling faces disappeared when they saw a horde waiting outside for them, all of them gazing at the survivors with milky-filmed eyes. The first infected in front of the horde, an old man in a wrinkled argyle sweater, opened his mouth and looked to the sky, before getting a burst of rounds from Bill's M16 that made his head disappear.

"Defensive position, people!" Bill yelled, taking a knee and firing at the incoming horde. Judging by pure eye sight alone, Bill estimated that there had to be twenty of more of them rushing, and a few that had not yet realized what the rest of the group was doing. The infected that got close to them were smacked with the butt of a weapon then quickly fired upon.

When the dust and smoke settled, the four survivors checked life and limb to make sure none of them was hurt. Bill acknowledged three "Okays", as well as his own, and then they were off, firing short, control burst at the stragglers who still didn't know what was happening.

Passing a garbage can lit aflame, the survivors continued down the alleyway past a blue van that blocked another section of the alley and turned to their left down another alleyway. They saw the lights of a police car siren flashing, but no cops within that car, only a few straggling infected surrounding it. They dispatched the infected and turned toward the vast street that was littered with abandoned cars and trucks.

"The station's just down the street," Bill informed them, picking up the pace. "Once we get down there we'll—"

Bill couldn't finish his sentence as he rounded the corner of the apartment building. What was waiting for him just around the corner was an enormous blob woman with the same type of sores that the one at the police station had that vomited on Francis.

And now it vomited on Bill.

"Bill!" Zoey shouted, taking a carefully aimed shot at the Boomer, blowing it sky-high.

Bill fell to the floor, the vomit in his eyes blinding him, and writhed on the floor. "Oh, God, it smells like shit!" he shouted. "I can't see a damn thing! Where's the bitch? Where the hell is she?"

Howling filled the night air. Francis looked around him and saw that behind them, where the cop car was, were infected rushing toward the gate. This is what had happened to him last time, when he was the unfortunate victim of the Boomer. And he had been right about the smell attracting the other infected to its location.

"Get the old man outta here," Francis ordered, loading his shotgun.

"Are you fuckin' nuts? You can't take all those by yourself!" Louis yelled. "I'm gonna stick around to help ya."

"No!" Francis yelled. "They want the old man, not me! He's covered in that muck, so he's the target. Trust me! Just get him the hell outta here, Lou!"

Louis reluctantly agreed, shouldering Bill, who still had one hand wiping the grim and muck off his eyes. Francis took a knee and stretched his neck, grinning. The first infected that reached him did not even know he was there; it completely ignored him, which is what he was expecting and hoping.

He began firing.

Not long after, the horde was dealt with, and Louis and Zoey had come out of cover with Bill, whose eyes were bloodshot. They wasted no time piling down the street, Louis still tucked underneath Bill just in case. They made it to a descending staircase that had a spray painting of a house with a plus sign in the middle, pointing downstairs.

"Everybody downstairs!" Bill ordered, wobbling down the steps. At the bottom of the steps was a truck that went through the wall, fortunately not blocking their escape route, and beyond that, a barred red steel door that had many bodies littered on the outside, the flies swarming around them. "Everybody pile in!"

The four survivors went into the small room and shut the door behind them, looking through the eye hole to see if any infected were on the other side, which they were, although shambling after them, possibly unaware that they were even there in the first place.

Louis and Francis then dragged two of the desks that were in the room and pushed them against the door to keep it shut. And with that done, the survivors fell to the floor and sighed deeply. They were safe for the time being.

Bill immediately stood up when he saw an orange caution poster posted on the wall that was ripped. It read: "QUARANTINE: Contagious Disease. No one may enter of leave this building by order of the civil emergency and defense agency. Trespassers will be…prosecut…" The rest was cut off. It seems that there had been survivors in this room before, as there was, in bold print, two words that Bill cringed when read: **NO CURE**. And beyond that, **NONE OF YOU WILL SURVIVE**.

"What is it?" Louis asked.

"Just a quarantine sign," Bill answered. "Looks like this is one of those safe houses we were talking about earlier. We got some ammunition and more supplies down here, stuff we can use.

"What's that?" Zoey asked, pointing to the wall with a bunch of different writings on it.

There were writings from different survivors hoping to get in touch with their loved ones. Most of the writings were written in markers. They said:

**_ENTIRE_****_ CITY IS GONE – IF YOU CAN READ THIS, LEAVE _**_with an illustration of a skull beneath it. _

_"Keith, waited 3 days at the meeting spot after we got separated. I can't wait anymore. Meet me at Mercy Hospital – Krista." _

_"SARAH! Jen is fine. Meet us in Riverside. – Aaron."_

"Poor sons of bitches," Francis thought aloud, shaking his head. "Well, we're in the exact same boat they're in, so that goes for us too."

"There's an evacuation notice over here," Louis said, then cursed. "They've overrun the Hewlitt Recreation Center. Isn't there any fucking place for us to go that hasn't been overrun?"

"Yeah, Mercy Hospital," Bill answered. "Now stock up on some ammo. We need to get going. Who knows how long that pilot is gonna wait for us."

The survivors stocked up on provisions and ammunition and opened the other door of the safe house, flipping on their flashlights as they did. It was much darker down here than it was in the streets, and in much worse shape. The survivors hadn't even stepped out two feet from the safe house before they saw that the second floor concrete had been stripped clean off, causing a little drop to the first floor. When the survivors dropped down to the shattered and broken concrete below, Bill was standing toe to toe with another horde of infected directly below him. He fired in bursts and the others joined soon after, wiping the threat away.

"Was hoping there'd be less zombies down here," Bill sighed. "Someone give me a boost so I can get some more ammo up top."

Francis hoisted Bill back up to the safe house so he could stock up on more ammunition, bringing some along for the others as well. When they were all ready to go, they headed further down, passing two descending staircases.

"The Red Line North. It'll take us to the hospital. Hang a left after the escalators, people."

Past the escalators and up the stairs, the survivors were met with a derailed train that had many dismembered corpses on the outside. It looked as if the train came to a screeching halt; the front train car appeared to be smashed between the two tracks. With the speed and impact upon crash, Bill wondered if those bodies outside were patrons of the train who had been savagely ripped apart by the infected after they were dead.

"Holy shit," Zoey said aloud, whistling. "Guess takin' the train's out of the equation, huh?" The other three looked over at her direction and noticed that she was grinning, shouldering her rifle and wading past them. "Well, come on," she said. "We aren't going to get to the hospital if we keep up this pace."

The train in front of the one that had crashed in the divider was worse off; a section of the train had toppled over and destroyed some of the brick pillars in the subway—luckily none that held the place together—and destroyed parts of the platform. Bill wondered how the hell this could've happened exactly. Then he thought of an infected conductor.

They continued on the tracks north, watching in awe as the body count rose and rose with each step. There were men piled by the walls, women and children strewn across the floor and bleeding out against walls. It was something that any father or mother would be mother would be mortified by. A dead child. Children.

Bill thought of his boy and felt his eyes get glassy.

"Let's get goin'," he said, pressing on in front of the others so they wouldn't see the expression on his face.

The tracks led to another derailed train that had its back compartment door ripped out. As the survivors piled in, they noticed the body of a conductor slumped across the streets, one pale arm thrown over his shoulder, his head drooping below. Bill and the others tried not to disturb the corpse as they walked by, and Bill was starting to feel queasy. It wasn't about the bodies themselves, it was that his company was starting to get desensitized to the corpses and killing around them, which was a good and bad thing. Good to stay alive, bad if they become animals.

At the end of the train, the carnage was increased tenfold. Blood painted the walls to their left and right, bodies were littered about the place, and the smell was so terrible that it mixed within their clothing. There was also a bloodstained trail that led to the top of the stairs at the door to their left. They had little choice but to take that up, seeing as though the railway further down was blocked by caved in concrete.

"Aw, shit," Francis said aloud. "Guess we're gonna have to go up, huh?"

Bill nodded and then dropped to his knee, aiming his M16 at the top of the staircase.

"Bill what are you—"

"Shh!" Bill hissed, finger to his lips. He perked his ears and crouched towards the staircase, taking slow steps as he did. "Something's up there…something _big_. I thought I heard something breathing loudly."

"I didn't hear anything," Louis said, turning to Zoey and Francis. "Did you?"

Two heads shook no. Bill shook off his paranoia and the four headed upstairs. They were in a vast concrete room that was chillingly empty. So far, the survivors had met with little to no resistance, which is something that they were thankful for.

There was a light at the end of the large room. When they reached the end, Bill heard that sound again, causing him to fall to his knee and aim forward.

"Again?" Zoey asked.

"There's something here."

"Old man, you really need to—"

A large growl echoed in the room, followed by a hulking giant entering. It was a Tank. It rushed forward immediately, grabbing Francis with its large hand and threw him like he was a rag doll against the wall. Bill, still on his knee, firing concentrated bursts at the Tank's upper body, and, when lucky enough to strike, its head.

"Francis, are you all right?" Zoey shouted, scoping with her Hunting Rifle and scoring a few potshots at it. "Come on, man, say something!"

Francis, the breath knocked out of him, seeing stars above his head, managed to get to his knees and shook his head; he had a pounding headache from the throw and crash. Francis checked himself to make sure that he had every piece intact, lastly grabbing his crotch, and used his shotgun to hoist himself up, joining his fellow survivors in the fray. Bill was still holding his own, making sure he was far enough from the Tank to keep firing, and Louis was doing his run-and-gun technique, running like hell away from the Tank and then turning every so often to score a few potshots before heading off.

The bullets looked like they were bouncing off the Tank; he made them seem like they were pellets being fired from a B.B. gun, which pissed Bill off to the core. "Try to aim for the head!" he ordered, taking careful aim. "We don't wanna waste all our ammo on this asshole!"

After a minute or so, the Tank, bloodied from all the entrance and exit wounds of bullets, finally gave one last rampage forward, throwing its arms in the air and crashing face first into the concrete. The survivors were sweaty and fatigued from the fight, but they knew that there was no time to rest just yet. They proceeded onward, up the stairs into what looked to be a generator room. At the end of the room, a large metal gate was open, leading to more steps. Just up those steps, the survivors had an entire view of the generator room. It looked like a defense post set up by the military. There was a mini gun on the first floor, as well as barbed wire protected the entranceway and walls of the second. But Bill wouldn't be surprised if it was that Tank they just killed that overran this post by itself.

Bill's assumptions were right; the small office just ahead of the staircase had ammunition thrown on the table, as well as a weapons stash station in the corner, which was mainly empty save for one weapon.

"Groovy!" Francis said with excitement, pulling the weapon out of the rack and shouldering it. It was a Benelli M1014 semi-automatic shotgun, a weapon used by Special Forces of the military and police. Francis began unloading his regular shotgun and began stuffing shells into his new one, grabbing more ammunition that was on the table afterwards.

"Groovy," Zoey repeated, giggling as she said it.

Francis looked over at her with a confused expression. "What's so funny? It _is_ groovy."

Zoey shook her head and continued on with the others, leaving Francis to wonder just what was so funny about his remark. But he took it as a compliment; if he could make people laugh amidst all that was going on, he'd certainly take it.

As they left the ammunition room, they entered a small hallway that led to many offices. Bill did his best to be quiet and close the doors just in case something unpleasant was on the other side of them. As he neared the last one by the downstairs staircase, a megaphone announcement was heard.

_"If anyone can hear this, proceed to Mercy Hospital for evacuation! I repeat, proceed to Mercy Hospital for evacuation!_

"It's the chopper dude!" Francis belted out. "We need to get some fire under our asses, guys! Let's get going!"

The four piled downstairs, entering a darkened foyer or reception office or whatever it had been once, and cleared out some of the straggling infected that were shuffling around. On the left hand side of the wall were more piled bodies littered about, and bloodstained walls. On the receptionists desk was a computer that was still on, but had no internet service, proving to be a bust.

The entrance doors of the office were pulled right off their hinges, but it led to the streets. Once there, it was a walk in the park to the other side of the long street, as there were only a few straggling infected shuffling about, which were quickly dealt with. The entire other side of the street was gated off, leaving the survivors no choice but to go into the building directly in front of them, which luckily had a safe house in it. The survivors shuffled in and shut the door behind them.

When they entered the room, they were met with some luck. Some of the crates that were in that particular safe house had rations in them. The survivors looked at it in disbelief, but that didn't stop them from digging in; they were starving. One ration had enough calories a person needs in a day, and they each ate about two of them to keep their strength up. When they were finished, they pocketed more of the rations that they could take and blocked the door they had come through with two crates.

Like the last safe house, this one had writing on the walls as well. They read:

_"NOBODY IS GOING TO SAVE US."_

_"HEATHER: Ignore the plan, airport is quarantine. Meet me at Mom's. – Rick."_

_"THEY CAN TALK."_

_"Andrew Hale: Danny and I love you." _

_"NOBODY IS COMING TO SAVE US. They are going to bomb the city. GET OUT"_

_"To Helen Lane: Dad and Me love you and we are alrite. – Will."_

The new Evacuation Notice in this safe house stated that Rideau Height Road has been overrun and that the new Evacuation Point was at Mercy Hospital, which is where they were headed.

"You guys ready to go?" Francis asked.

"I'm with ya," Zoey answered, loading up her rifle. "Who knows how much longer that guy is gonna be picking people up."

They unbarred the safe house door and immediately turned to their left in the skinny alley, firing upon the infected that were slumped against the walls. Bill was starting to lose all hope that there was a controlled area in the city; he was starting to see more and more U.S. Army personnel either dead or infected, and it was starting to bring his morale down drastically.

The end of the skinny alley led them to the back of a fast food restaurant complete with spoiled meat and piles of bodies in the corner, as well as the flies and smell that came with them. For the most part, however, the restaurant was empty of infected; those were waiting outside for the survivors. They opened the glass front door of the restaurant and kept a tight perimeter against one another working almost as a perfect diamond as they shifted and shot their way through the hordes. A Mack truck was plowed into the building next door to the restaurant, and another was parked securely by a loading dock. It looked as though the driver of the truck hadn't made his final delivery. All doors of this area were blocked off by gates. The only thing accessible was a conveniently placed lift at the end of the street that they could use to walk along the roof to get to the other building.

"Everyone on the lift!" Bill ordered, waiting until the other three were safely aboard. Once he pressed the switch for the lift to go up, an eerie howl filled the air, and beyond the restaurant they had just come from was an entire horde climbing the fence. Bill didn't even know if he wanted to call it a horde…it was more like an army of infected heading in their direction. "Set up defensive perimeters by the corner there. Two gunners crouch and two stand. Francis and Louis on the bottom, Zoey and I up top. Let's move, people!"

They quickly got into the formation Bill had suggested, which seemed to work out just fine. What was so effective about this perimeter was that there was almost no possibility of friendly fire, and if anyone had to reload, there were always three guns firing while he or she had to.

Francis was amazed at the sheer level of strength and lack of fatigue that the infected had. They never knew when their bodies were physically exhausted, and climbed obstacles any normal person would see a feat to do, such as climbing on top of that Mack truck and grabbing the aluminum siding, scaling it with ease. The horde didn't seem to be stopping any time soon, which was starting to worry Bill. Eventually, they stopped coming, and the survivors were allowed to breathe easy for a bit.

They made their way across the aluminum siding and made it to the adjacent building by scaling across a pipe to get in. Once there, they dropped below the gaping hole that was in this room and saw that there was some ammunition on the table. Apparently, the military seemed to set up some sort of sub-stations around the city as well, those that lead to the safe houses. Once the survivors were loaded up, they proceeded outside the small office and continued down the corridor, met by four offices. Looking inside only yielded a few infected that needed to be dealt with.

"Looks like there's a way down here," Zoey said, eyeing the staircase. "You wanna do the honors, Francis?"

"With pleasure," Francis answered, going down the stairs first, auto-shotgun at the ready. "Clear!" he shouted after a few seconds, watching the other survivors hustle down the steps.

Much like the floor above, this floor also housed rooms and bathrooms they explored, which yielded nothing.

"Here's a way through!" Louis said excitingly, grinning as he saw a small warehouse divided into three long shelving units. As he was making his way through, he heard a sound of someone sloshing around, sounding as if they were going to vomit. "Hold up, guys," he said. "I think I hear something."

When he pressed on a bit further, Louis saw a Boomer hanging out at the end of one of the shelving units, possibly waiting for the survivors to come through and get ambushed by his vomit.

"Zoey," Louis said, grabbing her face delicately and showing her where the Boomer was. "You think you can hit it from here?"

"Piece of cake," Zoey answered, aiming her Hunting Rifle and firing once, watching a cloud of crimson erupt from the Boomer.

"Nice shot!" Bill said, patting Zoey on the shoulder, pressing on. "All right, people, let's get going."

The back entrance of the warehouse led them to another skinny alley that had multiple infected shuffling around. Firing upon them as soon as they were in sight, the survivors piled further, heading down an even skinnier alleyway that turned into a passageway leading down a flight of steps.

Zoey heard a growl not far off from where she was. The other three were in front of her already descending the steps when the growl grew much louder.

And from behind.

She turned just in time to see a Hunter leap forward, knocking her weapon out of her hands and trying to claw at her with its long claws.

"A little help!" Zoey shrieked.

Francis immediately ran up the steps and used his shotgun as a club to get the Hunter off Zoey, then ran over to it and placed the barrel against its skull and quickly pulling the trigger, the brains of the Hunter spraying against the walls.

Zoey had a cut against her cheek that was bleeding mildly. She was mostly still in a little shock that that thing had almost taken her out of the fight.

"Zoey, darlin', use your aid kit," Francis suggested, bringing her chin up to inspect the wound.

"I'll be fine; it's nothin'," Zoey answered, being helped up by Francis and bending over to grab her rifle.

At the end of the staircase, Bill saw a corpse that was ripped in half. The poor soul still had his mouth open and it was highly possible that he was alive while this carnage was being done to him. The sight wanted Bill to vomit. When he pressed on, he saw that a manhole cover was just down this room, and it was opened.

"Looks like some people have come through here," he said in an effort to get some morale up. "Probably another group headed for Mercy. We should try to catch up with them is we can."

Before they took another step, Bill and the others heard weeping not too far off from where they were.

"Hold it, people," Bill said, fist up to halt his troops. "We got a Witch down here, so watch your steps and your flashlights; we don't wanna piss the bitch off."

Francis slowly reloaded his shotgun and gritted his teeth when he cocked it, the sweat trickling down his forehead. Bill looked at him and nudged him with his elbow, Francis giving him his "fuck off" look in the meantime, grinning all the same.

The weeping from the Witch grew increasingly louder as they drew closer and closer to the manhole. In this tiny room, there were pipes that cut off an intersection in the middle, and it was very difficult to see around the corners, let alone through the pipes themselves, so disturbing the Witch was almost a guarantee.

Bill's boots crunched with each step, pieces of asphalt scraped the ground. And the Witch's cries were getting closer.

As the four shuffled their way through the middle intersection of the room, they were relieved to see that there was a separate room to their right that housed its own manhole, as well as the Witch. They each let out a sigh of relief and were about to descend down the ladder of the manhole before a glimmer of light caught Bill's eyes.

Bill squinted and put his arm over his eyes to keep the light at bay. He walked over to the room and stared hard at the Witch, who still had her face buried in her hands. Bill shone his flashlight just above the Witch so as to get a better look at her, careful not to shine it directly on her. And that's when he saw it.

The heart-shaped locket he had given Beatrice. The very same one she had on when she had become a Witch and tried to slaughter him.

"Beatrice?" Bill said aloud, his voice echoing in the lone room, causing the Witch to look over in his direction. "Is that you, sweetheart? It's me…_William_. Your _husband_. Don't you remember me?"

Bill began to walk closer to Beatrice, his mind trying to stop his body to no avail. He was caught in a trance of disbelief that after all this time, he could still love something that so utterly despised him, and likewise. She was still Beatrice to him, his wife, the mother of his son, the woman who had waited for him to come back from the war.

The woman he had made vows to be together through sickness and in health, through rich and poor…

Through death.

"Bea," Bill sniffled, "please. Please recognize me. Please."

The Witch stood up now, obviously annoyed at this new presence that had come walking into her domain. Bill dropped his rifle and continued to pace, very slowly, towards her, his hand stretched out in front of him. But before he could make it any closer to his wife, Francis grabbed him by the collar and jerked him into the other room.

"What the hell do you think you're doin', old man?" Francis said in a loud whisper. "She's gonna tear you into pieces. You got a death wish? Leave that Witch alone!"

Bill looked into Francis' eyes with his glassy ones, and mouthed the name "Beatrice", unable to work the courage to say it aloud. When Bill mouthed her name, Francis' hard gaze let up a little, and he let go of Bill's collar, showing a little surprise himself.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

Bill nodded. "She's wearing the necklace I got her years ago."

Francis sighed and shook his head. "What do you want to do?" he asked. "I mean, we can't take her with us, and disturbing her is going to be a danger to the rest of us."

"Hand me your shotgun," Bill said in a low voice.

"What?"

"Hand me your shotgun," Bill repeated. "I don't want her to suffer anymore, to keep crying forever. I want to end her suffering."

"You don't have to do this, Bill," Francis insisted. "I can go in there and take care of it for you. You shouldn't e the one who has to do it."

"I do…because she's my wife."

Francis nodded slowly and handed his shotgun over to Bill. "Do you want us to come in there with you?" he asked, and by this time Zoey and Louis had caught up. "We can do this together."

Bill shook his head. "No, this is something I have to do alone. Thanks for the consideration, Francis; for being such an asshole all the time, the times when the good comes out of you give me real hope that all will be well in the world in due time."

Francis didn't reply, instead leading Zoey and Louis away while Bill entered Beatrice's domain once more.

He gazed upon her and saw that she was back on her knees crying once more. She utterly hated everything about him and wanted to gut him and chew him and spit him out and Bill had no idea why. She was once his beautiful bride, beautiful wife and lover and mother and best friend and everything under the sun you could call her. And now…

Now she was just like any other animal Bill has put down thus far.

"I'm sorry I didn't protect you when I could, sweetheart," he began. "I failed you and our boy. I took his mother away from him and I don't know what I'm going to tell him if I ever see him again. How could I look into our boy's face and see you and not break down, hon? Tell me how I'm supposed to have the strength to move on. Is God going to make things better? Is he going to end all that's happening here and bring you back to me?"

Beatrice looked back over at his direction and stood up once again, letting out an annoyed growl. She didn't have any answers for Bill; she was a mindless drone now, like all the other poor souls that had been taken in Fairfield. A city of the dead. That's what they all called home now. And it sickened him.

"Let's finish this, Bea? Ok? It'll be just you and me this time, no one else. And…and…and when I see our boy, I'll tell him that his mother loved him very much. I love you with every inch of me, Beatrice. You are my heart and soul. You're my being, my every reason for living and existing. And I'm so sorry sweetheart. I'm so, so sorry."

Francis, Zoey and Louis all heard the Witch's loud shriek, followed by a shotgun blast. Seconds passed that felt like an eternity to them, and finally they heard something faint.

Weeping.

But it wasn't from the Witch.

- - -

_All this time I had thought that survival was the key. It was then that I realized that the infected we killed or the ones who had died since the infection were the fortunate ones. We are the Walking Dead in the sense that we don't know when our ticket is going to get punched, when we're going to get ripped apart or bleed to death, constantly scratching and clawing for food and ammunition and shelter. So this I say now; those of us in this world who survive this ordeal…may very well come to envy those who did not._

_- Sergeant William Overbeck, United States Army (Ret.) _

_- - -_

Author's Note: Sorry for the long wait, guys! I got a little tangled up with some things! I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I tried to make it as real to life as the actual game (I was playing through the campaign as I was writing it, so that shows how much of a loser I am), as well as the dialogue that was used (to a small degree). Look for an update soon. I'm hoping to make at least two chapters per campaign, which seems pretty fair to me. Take care and God Bless and until next time, be sure to review.


	8. No Mercy: The Hospital, Rooftop Finale

VIII

No Mercy: The Hospital/Rooftop Finale

Not long after climbing out of the sewers, the survivors made it into the Hospital safe house. Before walking in, they noticed the helicopter that asked survivors to move to Mercy Hospital leaving the heliport on the roof, possibly extracting more survivors. As the survivors raided the safe house of supplies and medical kits, Bill sat with a dimming cigarette in his mouth, watching the vapor from the smoke dissipating in the air, following it with his eyes as it disappeared before him. He felt that he was very much like the smoke disappearing in the air; he had tried all this time to keep it together for the sake of the three others with him, but he never once stopped to really take a look at how his life was playing out. A far away son who's probably dead, a dead wife, a bum leg, malnourishment, and a declining health—that was what his life amounted to now, and that was something he had to keep reminding himself. No matter how hard he tried, there would always be casualties. It was the same way for him in Vietnam, when men under his control were killed following his orders. These three were _his_ soldiers, _his_ platoon, and they were all the family he had left in this crazy world.

"He's been sitting like that since we came in here," Zoey whispered to Francis, who was loading his shotgun. "I'm scared for him, Francis. I've never seen Bill like this before."

"The old man's got a lot on his plate, that's for sure," Francis said, cocking his shotgun. "He's been through a lot since this all started—hell, we all have—but he had to hit it head-on, weeks after the hurt that he felt was finally starting to go away."

Bill's cigarette fell to the floor when his mouth was too open. He didn't pick it up. Instead, still staring into the nothingness of the wall in front of him, he clasped the locket that was around his neck, the necklace he had taken off of Beatrice's pale neck after he had killed her. It was the only thing he had left of her; it symbolized an endless love that will forever be lost and frozen in time.

"Bill," Zoey said softly, taking a knee beside him. "I'm sorry to bother you, but we need to get going. We need to find a way to contact that helicopter so it can come back for us. We can't waste too much time in here."

Bill's deep blue eyes slowly rose to meet Zoey's gaze. Zoey could see that Bill was destroyed on the inside, his eyes shiny as glass glistening in the sun. He tried all he could to grin, but his face felt too heavy to move, his injured leg starting to burn within his body.

"Remember when I told you I killed my father?" Zoey asked. "It was hard for me to do that and speak of it, too. But I knew that what I did was the right thing, if not for me, then for him. I know my father would never want to go on living knowing that he was going to harm other people, maybe even women and children. I'm sure Beatrice would've felt the same, Bill. You _saved_ her life. You didn't destroy it."

With that, Zoey gave Bill a slow kiss on his tear-stained cheek and moved towards Louis and Francis.

"Okay, guys," she said. "When we get out there, let's try to stick close together and clear the area. We'll try to make a path so Bill can follow us up when he's ready. You guys in?"

"Don't have much of a choice, darlin'," Francis answered, looking over at Bill and nodding slowly.

Bill looked up at the wall in the safe house and found something written by someone named Kate.

"_Peter, waited until Thursday…Couldn't wait any longer…Went to Riverside with others. I'm __so__ sorry!"_

Bill thought of both Peter and Kate. Peter was probably dead, as was Kate, but she waited for him for as long as she could before she knew that she had to leave herself. She had to save herself because waiting around to die was killing her more. Maybe that's what Bill needed; he needed to be free of his guilt and save himself. He was always trying to save people, but he was never trying to save himself.

"Wait," he said, unloading the clip in his assault rifle and reloading. "I'm coming with you. I can't mope around in here while I let you guys have all the fun. What kind of man would that make me?"

"A pussy," Francis grinned.

Louis smiled and shrugged Francis on the shoulder and looked over at Bill. "You ready?" he asked. "We couldn't get going without our Sergeant, right? How about you teach us how a platoon's supposed to work?"

"Okay, people," Bill began, "we need to make it to the rooftop, quick. We don't know how long this chopper pilot is gonna have brass balls to keep coming back here picking people up. Zoey had the best plan, so I think we should just stick close and try to get there as quickly as possible. And Francis, why don't you stop makin' trouble and start makin' corpses?"

Francis grinned. "I hate hospitals," he replied, opening the door to the safe house. Immediately, a horde met the survivors from both sides. Bill turned around to meet their flanks and shouted, "Louis, with me! Keep them off our asses, son!"

Louis spun around with his Uzi 9mm and blasted his way through five or six of them before they began to stumble upon each other to get to him. Bill stood on one knee keeping Louis cover, taking careful potshots at the infected who got too close for comfort.

"Reloading!" Zoey shouted, ejected the magazine in her Ruger. The survivors were fighting in close quarters; the hallway was thin and narrow, with barely enough room for two people to stretch. It also had ajoining rooms that could easily house hiding infected, which they did.

Bill turned just in time to see an infected child run out of the room and had its teeth bared. "Zoey!" he shouted, shoving her against the wall and putting his arm forward to defend himself. The child sunk its teeth in Bill's forearm, the blood spirting in different directions. Bill screamed in agony, mustering all the strength he had relinquishing his .45 and pointed it at the child's skull, looking away and firing, brain matter spraying against the walls. The child let its grip loose and slumped to the floor.

Seconds later, the smoke settled and the survivors huddled to Bill, who held his forearm and winced with pain. "Are you all right?" he asked Zoey, who looked as if she was about t

o cry. "I didn't hurt ya when I pushed ya, did I?"

Zoey shook her head and tended to his wound, pulling out her med kit. "Thank you, Bill," she whispered. "I—"

"Now, now," Bill said, watching his forearm being wrapped. "Mosta this blood ain't mine," he said to reassure her. He looked to his left and noticed the child he had murdered slumped to the floor, his hand over his chest. Bill tired all he could not to look at the massacre he committed; the child's skull was almost completely missing. "Jesus, he was just a kid."

"Who tried to kill you, Bill," Louis answered. "Don't forget that, _ever_. You didn't have a choice in the matter. All right?" Louis extended a hand to Bill and helped him to his feet, handing his assault rifle to him a moment later. "Now I don't know about you, but I want to get the hell out of this hospital before we get eaten alive. You okay to walk?"

"I may be old, but I'm not a lazy sack," Bill answered. "Now let's get movin', people."

Bill led the survivors down the hall, keeping his assault rifle aimed high in case anything decided to jump up at them. Bodies and blood were painted against the walls. Bill thought it was pretty ironic that he was in a hospital filled with dead people, any way you wanted to look at it. It was something that made him much more uncomfortable when he thought about it.

Past the hallway was a stairwell. As they ascended it, they noticed that the way leading to the roof had been blocked. Bill thought that it was possible that the survivors who had made their way here earlier probably blocked the path leading up to halt the advances of the infected.

Little did those survivors know then, it blocked the path for the others, too.

"Shit," Francis muttered. "There any other way up?"

"Yeah," Louis answered. "The long way."

The survivors pressed forward, entering a large foyer area that housed a lot of corpses and littering infected that were easily disposed of. Bill perked his ears and noticed a fast-moving blur disappear from his view. "Keep your eyes peeled. I think I just saw a goddamn Hunter."

They continued forward, reaching stairs and ascending them to the third floor. In this area were small offices and a receptionist's desk, as well as a staircase leading to the fourth floor.

"I hate stairs," Francis cried.

"Damn straight," Bill answered. "I'm not going to walk to the roof."

"Come on, Bill. Stairs are a good workout." Louis chuckled and dodged a swiping hand from Bill, brushing passed him and up the stairs. "See? It ain't so hard, old man. Just one foot in front of the other."

Zoey shook her head and whispered, "He's just trying to get a rise out of you so you can feel a little better," to Bill. Bill understood and nodded, ascending the stairs.

When they reached the next floor, they immediately began walking forward, carefully forming a perimeter and blasting away anything that came too close. Aside from the infected that they were killing, there were many other corpses laying about, with some of them looking to be fresher than others, another hint that other survivors may have made their way here and met their demise as well.

The pathway led to an elevator with the spray painted image of a safe house pointing toward the elevator shaft. The survivors were on the 4th floor. The elevator was on the 30th.

"Come on, let's do it," Louis said, pushing the button of the elevator.

They all watched as the numbers on the machine read 30, 29, 28. Bill threw his body to the wall in pain; he couldn't ignore the pain in his forearm any longer. It felt as if someone took a butcher's knife to it and severered it from his body. Bill could see the concern and sorrow in Zoey's eyes; she felt that it was his fault he was in this kind of pain. "I know we've been immune so far," Bill said, "but well, if I start to turn, promise you'll shoot me."

"What if just your _beard_ starts to turn? Can I shoot that?" Francis grinned.

"You know who's gonna survive this mess, Francis? It ain't the fella makin' jokes," Bill replied, staring him down.

Within a minute, the elevator dinged. "Everybody in the elevator!" Louis screamed, piling in first, waiting at the commands. As they all came in, Francis turned and was greeted by a Hunter, who had pounced on him. "Jesus! Get it off! Get it off!" he screamed.

Zoey bat the Hunter's head with her rifle and took out her 9mm, firing into the torso of the Hunter, watching it slump to the wall in pain before finally letting out once last yelp before dying.

The elevator doors shut.

After Bill and Francis' awkward confrontation just outside the elevator, Zoey stood with the muzzle of her 9mm smoking. She thought of all the violence and death that was around them when only weeks ago she was sitting in her dorm room watching horror movies with her friends. "You think things will ever go back to normal?" she asked, breaking the silence.

"I'll see peace back on Earth if I gotta murder every one of these bastards with my bare goddamn hands!" Bill shouted.

"Damn right!" Louis agreed.

Francis said nothing.

When the elevator arrived at the 30th floor, the survivors were surprised to see that there was a huge construction site; beams were put up that will never be continued on, bags of cements that will never be mixed, and equipment that will never be used again were among the things they saw. But that didn't matter to them. They pressed on.

The road to the end of this site was pretty straightforward; it looked as if it had been cleared not long before they came here; bodies with blood puddles were still on the floor, some of the infected twitching. The other survivors that ran through here must've gotten into one big firefight.

They passed a beam that showed the same illustration of a safe house and an arrow pointing in its direction. The survivors followed the arrow and eventually found the safe house, relieved to see that there were still some supplies and ammunition left, though not much. They took what they needed and left the safe house, Louis dispatching of two infected that were just outside.

"Almost there. Almost there," Zoey repeated. It was starting to keep everyone's morale and hopes up. They were all tired and just wanted to get out. And after all this time and all that they went through and all that they encountered, they were almost to the rooftop, they were so close to salvation and freedom that they could taste it.

The top of the staircase led them to a long passageway that had many infected lurking about. Francis cocked his shotgun and moved forward, aiming and blasting at anything that dared to look at him, and then some. Regardless of how mad Bill was with Francis at the moment, he knew that Francis was a warrior, and the only problem he had was that he was born in the wrong century. He was an absolute monster who could have dominated in the Coliseum.

"We're all ready to go," Francis said, grinning. "What's say we get out of here and get a burger?"

"I'm down for that," Louis answered.

Crawling through a large ventilation shaft that led to many ladders, the survivors heard a static-filled voice echo in the room.

"_Mercy Hospital, are you there?"_ it asked.

It was the pilot of the helicopter that was circling around.

Bill's eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. "Let's find that radio and get a hold of that pilot."

Climbing that final ladder, the sweet taste of freedom on his tongue, Bill froze when he saw that the crumpled helipad before him, as well as the many infected that littered the place. He immediately hit the deck and shuffled on his elbows to the edge of the concrete leading to the lower level.

"What is it?" Louis asked.

"What else?" Bill responded. He slowly shuffled and took one knee and carefully aimed his assault rifle at the furthest infected he could spot, a woman who was missing both of her arms. "Now, get up and pick a target. Don't start shooting until I fire first. Try to fire in bursts and conserve your ammunition. You got me?"

Three nods acknowledged that they understood him and then he let his assault rifle light up the night, catching the woman on the back of the head, watching her head split into a few pieces. Bill's eardrums almost blew out of his head when the thunderous sound of Zoey's Ruger rang out, catching an infected in the neck, severing his head from his body. Louis picked his targets carefully, taking only those who he deemed got too close to the survivors and blew them away with his Uzi 9mm. Francis did nothing while he was doing this; he was on his knee looking out to make sure their flank wasn't compromised. Besides, he knew that firing a shotgun long range would just be a waste of shells, so he was comfortable with keeping out of the firefight until he was needed.

Once the dust settled, Francis made a big leap from the concrete pad they were on and landed on the helipad, rolling on his shoulder before pressing on his knee, looking out to the distance at some random wandering infected. "Coast's clear," he said, "you're all good to come down whenever you like. But by all means, take your time."

Louis leapt down first, followed by Zoey. Bill took his time; he knew his knee wasn't in the same shape as it was in the army, and he didn't want to risk breaking it upon impact now. Louis jogged back and helped him down easily, patting him on the shoulder and grinning as he did. "You ready to get the hell out of here?" he asked. "I could use the hamburger Francis was talking about."

Bill grinned and followed Francis' charge towards the sound of the booming radio, firing upon any infected that dared to even look at him. Bill shoved past him and ran into the small room filled with empty weapon racks and ammunition. He saw what looked to be the bodies of Army personnel on the ground, and they looked fresh.

"_Murphy, you there? Pick up if you can hear me, Murphy! Pick up, Mercy Hospital. Pick up."_

Bill grabbed the receiving end of the radio and said, "Murphy's dead, son. But you got four exhausted, starved and scared survivors here who are in need of an evacuation. Can you make it here?"

The pilot was silent for a few seconds, possibly alarmed and bothered by the realization of his friend's death. Finally, he said, _"I'm glad to see you made it! All you need to do is hold out until I get there. But first you need to prepare. There should be a mounted gun and other supplies to help you hold out. I can't land unless you're ready. Call me back once you've prepared. News Chopper 5 out."_

"Francis, you hear him?" Bill asked.

"I'm on it!" Francis yelled back, climbing the ladder just outside the room that led to the turret, Louis following closely behind. When they arrived up top, they saw the bodies of more Army personnel, all of them with their hands on their rifles, and two of them slumped over the turret. "Jesus, Lou, take a look at these poor bastards," he said, carefully moving the body of the soldier who was slumped over the turret. "Give me a hand here." He could see that even though they had weapons with them, the number of infected that rushed them must've been too much for the soldiers to handle.

Louis and Francis both carefully placed the bodies of the soldiers to the side. Then, Francis pulled the trigger of the turret, watching the spool begin to spin.

"How are you guys looking up there?" Bill called out. "Need any help?"

"We're good up here, old man!" Francis yelled back. "Call the pilot up and tell him to get our asses out of here! And tell him soon!"

Wasting no time, Bill turned to Zoey, "Get the guys some ammunition up there; whatever you can carry, all right? I'll be up there as soon as I call the pilot." Zoey nodded and began rummaging through the ammunition, running up to the others in the meantime. Bill yelled to the group, "If we become compromised in any way, I want the four of us to fall back to this staircase to get some crowd control. Everyone get me?" He wasn't waiting for a response because he knew that they understood what he was asking of them. He grabbed the receiving end of the radio. "We're good to go, son. Come on and pick us up."

"_Ok, I am on my way. ETA 15 minutes. Just hang in there. News Chopper 5 out."_

"I called the chopper! He said he'll be here in 15 minutes."

"Jesus, 15 minutes?" Francis yelled down. "We'll be dinner for ten minutes before he even fuckin' gets here. Christ!"

Bill ran upstairs and took his position by the other survivors, rifle in hand. There was this powerful calm before the storm. Bill felt this feeling all too much in war, and when things felt like they were going really well, it really meant that there was going to be a marathon through Hell before he saw any results. Within a few minutes, the pilot spoke again.

"_I'm gonna be a bit late. I just had…just had an incident. It's nothing. News Chopper 5 out."_

A powerful howl filled the air. All of the survivors looked at one another in shock, the only sound they could hear was the low hum of the spool from the turret Francis was on. When they looked to the area they had just come from by the ladder, Louis could see many infected jumping out, toppling over one another to reach them. "Here they come!" he shouted, raising his Uzi 9mm and firing short bursts. His advance was followed by Zoey's hunting rifle and Bill's assault rifle. "Francis, get that fuckin' mini-gun going, man! They're heading this way!"

"Goddamn it, Lou! I'm trying! I'm fucking trying! Come on, you piece of shit! Come on!" Upon finishing his sentence, the turret screeched loudly and let out a flurry of bullets, lighting up the night. Bullets ricocheted into the bodies of the mobbing infected, their first wave falling dead to the ground, the second wave tripping over them afterwards.

"They're getting closer!" Bill shouted. "Concentrate fire on the lower level!"

"_News Chopper 5 to Mercy Hospital. ETA 10 minutes. News Chopper 5 out."_

Louis hung over the railing by the turret and fired his Uzi at some of the infected that were nearing the entrance. One of them managed to reach the ladder and ascend, only to get his face blown off by Louis as soon as it made its way up.

Little did Louis know then that some infected had survived his barrage of the lower level and made their way behind the survivors. Three of them ascended the stairway, making their way to the roof; Louis' back the first thing in sight. They made their way to him, arms stretched outright, mouths bared.

"Louis!" Zoey cried out, smacking her side into the body of the first infected close to him, the other two infected tackling her a moment afterward, knocking her off the ledge onto the lower level. On the way down, she hit her head and lay still.

"_News Chopper 5 to Mercy Hospital. ETA 7 minutes. News Chopper 5 out."_

Louis screamed Zoey's name in horror and leapt from the second floor area to the first, jumping straight into a crowd. Bill eyes widened at the sight of Louis flying in midair; he had never seen a man do something so brave in his life, let alone Louis, the man he deemed to be a coward upon first meeting him. When Louis hit the ground, he aimed forward and took out the infected that were in front of him, but by then, the infected behind were already upon him. When he turned around, he saw the head of the infected woman in front of him erupt into a million pieces. Louis looked up and saw Bill aiming with his rifle at the crowd by Louis.

"Move! Go! Go! Go!" Bill ordered, watching Louis make his way to Zoey, who was still on the ground not moving.

"Zoey!" Louis shouted, shaking her. "Hey, Zoey. Come on, baby girl. You gotta get up! Come on!"

Zoey moved her head slowly, muttering something inaudible. "What happened?" she asked weakly.

"You fell down when you saved my ass," Louis smiled. "You took a little spill there, but the fighting ain't done yet. You gotta get up and give us a hand. Chopper's almost here. You good to get up?"

"Yeah, I'm good to go," she breathed, slowly rising to her knees with help from Louis. Overhead, she can still hear the muzzle of Bill's rifle firing into the night, as well as Francis' swears in-between the firing. She turned just in time to see an infected rushing towards them. She aimed her rifle high and blew his jaw from his face, watching the thing crumple to the floor mere inches away from Louis' feet.

"_News Chopper 5 to Mercy Hospital. Looks like you're gonna be my final run."_

Bill perked his ears and heard the loud sound of the helicopter's rudder spinning, the vehicle of salvation floating overhead. Bill's eyes lit up like a child on Christmas morning upon the sight; the first good thing he's seen in weeks, the realization that all their hard work had finally become fruitful; he just couldn't believe that this man was really coming here to save _them_ when he could be somewhere safe himself. It almost made tears come to his eyes to know that there were still some people left in the world that cared for the sake of others. It was not as much as a Dog Eat Dog world as he had thought. "The bird's here. Let's get the hell out of Dodge!" he yelled, running over to Francis and slapped him on the shoulder. "Hey, the chopper's here. I want you to go downstairs and grab all the ammunition and medical supplies you can and run like hell to the chopper! Lord knows this place has been compromised and they ain't going to be using it anymore!"

"But what about you?" Francis asked. "You heading to the chopper while I stick around and play grocery boy?"

Bill shook his head. "I'm gonna cover you while you make your way!" he shouted, mounting the turret and getting the spool hot once again. "And whatever you do, don't look back, okay? No matter what you hear or don't hear, don't look back. Just make sure you get on the chopper."

"Your wife's dead, Bill!" Francis screamed, trying to make his voice as loud as possible, shaking him violently. "There's no use throwing your life away, you hear me? There are people here who _need_, you Bill! We all _need_ you! We all need you to _live_! Throwing your life away isn't going to bring Beatrice back, and it sure as hell isn't going to get you any closer to finding your son!"

"You gettin' soft on me, Francis?"

"Fuck no! But it'd be a shame to lose a good shot like you, old man! So make sure you get your ass on the chopper once you clear a path! You got _me_?"

Bill grinned and nodded. "Go! That chopper's not gonna wait for us forever!" He watched as Francis sprinted towards the stairway and disappeared from view. He looked over to the helipad and saw that the chopper was beginning to descend. Louis had his Uzi 9mm in one hand, shooting anything that came near him and Zoey. Bill could also see that Zoey was slightly hurt; she had her arm slung around Louis' shoulder, but they were moving along very quickly and without delay. Bill cleared a path for them with the turret, blasting away the infected that were following them. They were the first to board the chopper.

Bill saw Francis hobbling toward the helicopter next, carrying what looked to be an array of ammunition and medical supplies. It was truly unbelievable and remarkable that he was carrying such weight and still move the way he did. More infected came from both sides of him, but they were easily dispatched by Bill and his turret. He was surprised that Francis had read him as easily as a book; Bill _was_ planning on staying behind to make sure that the helicopter left the hospital safely, he _was_ planning to kill as many of the bastards as he could before he gave up his ghost and met Beatrice wherever it was he and she and they were going to be. But clinging to the fact that life made him want to move on, the fact that his son was possibly lost in this hellfire that has consumed the world made him want to cherish the life and family that he had left. Zoey, Louis, and even Francis were his family now. It took him until that moment to realize that they really did _need_ him. He wasn't a useless old man; he was still Sergeant William Overbeck of the United States Army. And his squad needed him now more than ever.

When Bill's turret ran dry, he could see that Francis stopped dead in his tracks and waved his arm backward in a motion toward the helicopter. Bill slung his assault rifle over his shoulder and slid down the ladder, hobbling toward the helipad as well. When he made it to the steel ramp, he heard the sounds of thunderous footsteps coming from the locked elevator shaft by the ladder they had come up from. One, two thunderous blows and the door flew off its hinges and what emerged from it was a Tank, a hulking giant.

"Tank!" Francis screamed, piling into the helicopter. "Move your ass!"

Bill could feel the fatigue settle in his body. He felt slow, his legs made out of lead. The steel ramp way below him exploded into the air, the Tank making his way to the crumpled helipad. Bill could see the fear-stricken face of the pilot looking at him with haste. Bill was so focused on the face of the pilot that he hadn't noticed the infected that snuck up on him to his right, slashing his hand forward and scratching Bill against the arm, a deep gash that started to bleed. The Tank was nearly upon him, but Bill made those last final steps towards his freedom, lugging around his lead-stricken legs. When he reached the helicopter, he collapsed on the hanger, Louis and Francis dragging him in, Zoey firing at the Tank as it made its way.

"Get this fuckin' bird in the air!" Francis ordered the pilot.

Without hesitation, the pilot lifted the helicopter into the air, the Tank leaping off the helipad as it did, swiped at the lower rudder of the helicopter but missed, and let out a loud roar and it fell hundreds of stories to the streets below, followed by some blind-hungry infected making that descent as well.

"Oh, Jesus, man," Louis said. "Thank you, mister. Thank you so much for coming. God, you have no _idea_, man. You have no _idea_."

All four survivors let their heads rest on the cool metal of the helicopter. Zoey took out her first aid kit and lightly began bandaging Bill's injured arm.

"Saw you get hit. Are you immune?" the pilot asked Bill.

Bill looked forward and put up his other forearm that was injured by the child in the hospital. "Been scraped and scratched and bitten the past two weeks. So far, so good. I guess you can say I _am_ immune, son."

"That's good," the pilot said. "I'm guessing there aren't actually any doctors in your group are there?" the pilot asked, sounding weak. Louis could see from where he was sitting that the man's bomber jacket was ripped and bleeding, his eyes shielded by the tint of his aviator sunglasses. "Can you grab me a first aid kit?"

"What happened to you, man?" Louis asked, handing his aid kit to the pilot.

"Just tried a street pickup. I should know better. I think…I think I've been hit."

"I think that's pretty fucking obvious," Francis muttered to himself before being greeted to an elbow to the gut by Zoey.

"So what happened?" she then asked.

"Right after I got the call from you, I saw this woman run into the streets waving her arms around trying to get my attention. She had a young child with her. She just ran out right in the open, not caring who or what saw her. I just barely caught a glimpse of her with my headlights; I wouldn't have been able to otherwise. So I hover above the street as low as I could and threw down the ladder. She puts the child on first but by the time she even touches the ladder the infected topple on top of her. Swarm is more of a word to use, I guess. I could only hear a blood-curdling scream and a hand above a crowd before she disappeared completely. So when the little girl climbs up the ladder, I saw that she had been bitten on the leg; it was bleeding pretty bad. I told her to sit up front with me and was starting to make my way towards you before she turned and lunged for me. Nicked me pretty good on the shoulder before I shoved her out of the chopper."

"Jesus," Zoey said, placing a hand over her mouth. "So that was that incident you were talking about?"

"Yeah," the pilot sighed, "but I'm not feeling so well. It's cold."

"Well, whenever we get to where we have to go, you make sure you get it looked at and bandaged," Zoey said. "Speaking of which, where are we heading? Colony of survivors?"

"Something like that, out in Riverside. Military was stationed there before the infected and fortified the place pretty good; electric fences, barbed wire, the works. We're pretty safe over there. Food hasn't been a problem for us just yet. What places we do clear we raid for food supplies and medicine and antibiotics."

"You drop them off by helicopter?"

The pilot didn't say anything at first, wincing his eyes in pain. "Yeah. We have a failsafe plan in case anything…happens. Down by the river we have a ferry docked that transport survivors to the survivor camp. We're pretty solid."

"You sure you're all right?" Zoey asked. "You don't sound so well."

The pilot canted slightly, his head moving in many directions. "Yeah...I'm fine…" He let his head fall back completely and he let go of the throttle. "I—I…" The pilot's head canted again, and this time the helicopter dipped slightly. Louis looked forward and saw that the pilot had lost consciousness, possibly due to the loss of blood. But within seconds, he lifted his head once again and, ripping his aviator sunglasses off his face, turned to look at the survivors with filmless eyes.

"Holy shit!" Francis screamed, grabbing his shotgun.

Zoey relinquished her 9mm handgun and shot the pilot twice, once in the chest and once in the head, his blood splattering the windshield behind him. When he fell down, Bill ran forward and grabbed the throttle and tried to pull up as quickly as he could. But by then they had dipped too low in altitude and too low of an angle. Bill could clearly see that they were heading straight for a small expressway surrounded by trees.

"Hang on to something, people!" Bill shouted back, bracing himself against the seat, trying to lift the throttle to no avail. The helicopter canted on its side once it crashed, its rudder breaking into pieces upon impact. Bill blacked out once the helicopter touched the ground, as did the other survivors

- - -

_I thought I had died. Hell, we all did. We had just left Hell only to reenter it minutes later. A man had lost his life because he was just being a decent human being, something we can all aspire too. But he was just like the people of this town. The people here had paid something that I hoped I wouldn't have to any time soon. They had all paid the death toll. And now, those very people were here to collect from us._

_- Sergeant William Overbeck, United States Army (Ret.)_

- - -

A/N: I hope you all enjoyed the chapter as much as I enjoyed reading it. It was brought to my attention by Agent 94 if I was aware of the new campaign titled "Crash Course" that was going to be released soon. I did know of Crash Course as soon as it was announced, and although I had thought of including it into the story, I decided not to because it would throw me off of what I had wanted to write originally. I know of the existing campaigns very comfortably and I figured out some way to connect them all in one way or another, at least, to a reason I thought was plausible. So as much as I had wanted to, and I'm sorry to those who were looking forward to it, but I'm not going to include Crash Course into this story. Hope that clears some things up for you. And be sure to review after you read the chapter, guys; it really does mean a lot to me and gets me to want to write the story that much quicker. Take care and look for an update soon.


	9. Death Toll: The Turnpike, Drains, Church

IX

Death Toll: The Turnpike/The Drains/The Church

The jungle was hot and humid and the rifle slung around Bill's shoulder was getting increasingly heavier with each advancing step. The callous in his hands were beginning to erupt, his skin peeling and breaking, just like it was with his entire squad. Bill looked to the five other men in his platoon, all of them weary and tired and hungry and afraid of what might happen to them. Just yesterday, Bill had to send one of his men home in pieces after the poor boy stepped on a carefully placed landmine. Bill was standing right next to him when he looked up and his face disappeared in the flame and smoke and pools of blood.

"Sarge, what are we gonna do now?" Private Michael Scott asked. "We've been walking for over a day now; where the hell are we goin'?"

"Orders from the top, Private," Bill answered, patting the young man on the shoulder. "We're doing a search and rescue over here. Intel got info about a squad of men who disappeared in the jungle around here not a week back. We're ordered to go in there and get them out if they're still alive."

_Bill heard many sighs behind him, sighs of disappointment and fear. He closed his eyes and thought of the carnival he and Beatrice had went to before he flew out to this mess. They were on the Ferris wheel and she was so afraid, clinging to his arm for dear life. She looked so beautiful; her hair was up, her smile perfectly shining in the moonlight. She had kissed him on the cheek and he felt on top of the world. He smiled back, of course, before he whispered something in her ear._

_Her gaze let up a little. She turned to him with glassy eyes and pursed her lips. "I love you, too," she said back, embracing him even harder. They stood like that until the Ferris wheel came to a halt. They looked at one another as though this was going to be the last time they were ever going to see one another. "You don't need to ask me, you know? To wait. I'd wait forever and a day for you."_

_"You really mean that, Bea?" he asked, suddenly surprised. "I could be gone for years. I could die out there, and all that waiting will be for nothing."_

_She shook her head and smiled. "I know what I'm getting into, William, and I know what I want. You're the man I want to be with for the rest of my life. I'd wait months, years…and whatever days may come after that."_

_Bill's smiled beamed into space. He lowered his gaze to meet hers. He knew she meant what she said, and he was glad she did. Beatrice meant the world to him, and living a life without her would be unbearable. Bill pressed his lips against hers, feeling her cool hand on his neck._

An explosion rung out then, sending one of his men flying in the air. Bill lifted his M16 and fired in the rustling bushes, hearing a yelp of pain coming from the other side, followed by a small blood spurt. He ran over to the young man who was sent flying in the air by the explosion. He turned him over and saw that his face was charred, the skin melted off half his body.

"Defensive maneuvers!" Bill shouted, hitting a tree to his side. Chunks of bark splintered from the tree. Bill had his eyes shut, thinking of the peaceful times before. He extended his rifle to the edge of the tree and pulled the trigger, shooting blindly into the rustling bushes.

Not many minutes after, Bill heard Scott shout "Sir!" from afar. "Joyce, Brush, and Madsen are dead! What the _fuck_ do we do now, sir?"

"Just keep firing, Mikey! Let 'em think we got more numbers! And for fuck's sake, _keep your goddamn head down_!"

Scott pulled the pin of the grenade in his hand and threw it. A second later, a cloud of dirt erupted not too far from Bill. He saw that someone was approaching Scott's flank. He raised his rifle and fired a pot shot that hit him in the chest and shoulder, putting the Vietcong soldier down to the dirt. Scott took the time to look behind him and nodded to Bill, showing his thanks.

Blind fire was exchanged between the two opposing forces, spurts of dirt, bark and blood mixed in with the awful smell of their body odor and gunpowder in the air. After a few more minutes of exchanging potshots on the Vietcong, Bill didn't hear a rustle of a leaf or a crunch of a boot besides his and Scott's own.

"What's your call, Sarge?" Scott said lowly, waiting for a response. "Sarge? You with me, Sarge? Bill? Bill?"

- - -

His name echoed in his mind, and his eyes slowly fluttered open to find Louis lightly tapping his cheek. "You with me, Sarge? Bill? Bill? Come on, man, you gotta wake up."

"What happened?" Bill said weakly, coughing. He sat up with Louis' help and noticed the burning wreckage of the helicopter behind them, lighting up the dark expressway. Its smoke, which was pitch black, gave an indication that it was about to explode within minutes, if it hadn't already; Bill couldn't tell from the angle he was looking at it.

"You saved our asses is what happened," Louis answered, looking at the wreckage as well. "Looks like we all blacked out when we crashed. I was the first one to wake up so I grabbed you and Zoey and pulled you guys out first, and by the time I went to get Francis he was already up, muttering how he hates not being the one who gets pulled out first."

Louis chuckled a little bit. Bill glanced back over to the wreckage. "The pilot?"

"He's over there," Louis answered, pointing to a deserted car on the expressway, the pilot's body clearly visible slumped against the rear passenger door, his bloodstained face canted towards his shoulder. "I couldn't just leave him to burn in there… The poor guy…he tried to _help_ us and that woman and little girl from the streets. He didn't do anything wrong but give a shit about people's safety."

Bill could see that Louis was visibly shaken by the pilot's death. It didn't take very long nowadays to know someone, and in the minutes they got to know the helicopter pilot, they could tell that he was a very caring individual, risking life and limb to bring others to safety. He had the warm personality of a father, something Bill could relate to all too much.

When Bill stood up, he saw that his M16 was lying right next to him. He could see Zoey changing the magazine in her 9mm and could see Francis storming about, smacking his palm against his head in a fit of rage.

When Bill and Louis caught up to Zoey and Francis, Zoey looked at Bill and smiled and then said, "Well, boys…it looks like we're walking."

"Yeah, well," Francis began, pointing a finger at Zoey, "next time someone offers us a ride, don't _shoot_ him!"

"He was a zombie, Francis!" Zoey argued.

"On the bright side, look at all the great scenery we would have missed if we flew over it in a helicopter, huh?" Louis interjected, smiling. "So looks like we're gonna have to walk out of here."

"I hate walking," Francis sighed.

Bill knelt down next to the supplies and rummaged through the ammunition. Most of his stash was thrown around when the helicopter crashed, and his machete was nowhere to be found, but thankfully, Francis brought just enough for him to feel comfortable.

"We all set to go?" Bill asked. "Or does anyone have anything else to say?"

"Guys. Everyone. I wanna say something," Francis said, huddling everyone around him. "I. _Hate_. Helicopters." Three pairs of eyes rolled and three heads shook as they continued on. As soon as passed the pilot of the helicopter driver, he looked at Zoey and said, "Hey, Zoey, here's the pilot. Case you wanna shoot him again."

"He was a zombie, Francis!" Zoey repeated.

Louis laughed and shook his head, falling in line behind Bill.

"Hey, Sunshine Beams," Francis began, nudging Louis. "We just _crashed_. You got anything positive to say about that?"

Louis scratched his scalp and thought for a quick second. "That was my first time in a helicopter. Pretty exciting!"

Francis contorted his lip and raised an eyebrow before letting his shoulders relax. "All right. I'll give ya that."

The survivors pressed on into the dimly lit expressway, the heat from the helicopter's flame dissipating as they got further and further away. They saw a few straggling infected on the road that were easily disposed of before coming to a halt on the overpass.

Zoey sighed, "Of course the bridge is out," followed by an "Ah, hell," by Louis. Bill walked to the tip of the crumpled bridge and looked below. Aside from a few infected that were wandering the area, Bill could see that there was a ladder on the other side of the bridge. He pointed down to it, following the path with his finger back to where they were. It was a big dip to the bottom of the overpass, but it was their only shot to get somewhere.

"All right, people," Bill said, falling back. "Follow me. We're gonna have to backtrack a bit." He led them down the dip in the expressway, careful not too disturb too many of the infected hanging about, and froze mid-strafe, perking his ears. "Careful, people. There's a hunter around here."

Not much longer after that, Bill could spot the thing descending down meters away from the ladder, which is where they were supposed to be going. He nudged Zoey and pointing his finger at the Hunter, getting a wink in acknowledgment. Zoey craned her neck and looked through her scope and _Bam! _one shot, one kill, the Hunter's body falling down the ladder, crumpling at the bottom. "Nice shot, kiddo," Bill smiled, crouching towards the ladder and ascending it.

When he reached the top, Bill saw what used to be an old woman standing in front of him. The infected tilted its head and unleashed a flurry of bile that covered Bill completely. He grabbed it by the leg and swept its leg, sending the infected falling to join the Hunter below. He heard the howl in the wind and knew that the infected were going to be drawn to the smell. He could hear Francis cursing and firing his shotgun at the infected they had tried so hard to avoid. Bill brought himself to his feet and took a defensive position against the back drop of the ladder, firing three round bursts into anything that wasn't remotely human anymore. After a few seconds the horde seemed to be letting off, and it gave Bill a chance to vomit on the floor himself from that horrid smell.

"You all right, Bill?" Zoey asked, rubbing his back, squinting her eyes at the goo of the Boomer's bile before rubbing it on Francis' vest.

"Hey!" Francis retorted, brushing at his vest. "Watch the merchandise!"

On the other side of the overpass, a flaming tanker might've caused the overpass to crumble, but as they headed forward, Bill looked up to see the exit sign, Riverside, Exit ½ Mile. "It's through this tunnel," Bill informed, carefully treaded into the dimly-lit tunnel, flicking his flashlight on to provide some further light. Cars were abandoned in mass bulks inside the tunnel, and Bill swore he could make out the imprints of the deceased driving in the car before they eroded away.

And to his surprise, there were no infected inside for much of the walkthrough. But when they reached an area that had cars cluttered together, Bill could see the infected roaming around mindlessly below. "This tunnel was a deathtrap," he breathed lowly, before realizing his mistake. The infected—he could never guess how—set a trap for them.

Immediately, a pink tentacle came rushing forward, wrapping around Zoey's chest. Both sides of the tunnel were being flooded with the infected, toppling over themselves to be the first ones to get a meal. Bill took a knee and fired at the incoming mass, as did Francis at their rear. Louis held onto Zoey for dear life, training his Uzi 9mm against her shoulder so he too could fire some potshots into the crowd. But that wasn't enough as Louis' hold gave sway and Zoey was dragged into the horde, disappearing in countless bodies standing above her, her bloodcurdling scream the only thing echoing in the tunnel.

"Shit! I-I lost her! God damn it! I fucking _lost_ her!" Louis cried, firing into the horde, trying to hit the pink tentacle.

Francis, dispatching the last zombie that was in plain view from the rear, looked up and saw what Louis was talking about. He quickly loaded five shells into his shotgun, the amount her knew he only had time for, and leapt in front of Bill and Louis, pushing his way into the crowd, smacking any infected in his way with his shotgun. He turned and fired once, killing a few zombies that were cluttering together, the sound of one shell hitting the floor. He fired into the mass in front of him, careful to aim up so as to not hit Zoey, the sound of the second shell hitting the floor. An infected sunk its teeth into his leg, to which he fired his third shell, blowing the face off of it. He reached Zoey and held onto the pink tentacle.

"Miss me, darlin'?" Francis asked, grinning. He held onto the tentacle with a firm grip and fired just below it, watching the thing explode as it did, and being dragged up towards the Smoker like a pulley. He thought he was flying in air before he realized that a chunk of the upper expressway had fallen into the one they were currently in. When he reached the top, he felt his firm grip on the tentacle and pulled the Smoker closer to him, aiming his shotgun with one arm before firing into its hideous face, watching it disappear in smoke and blood, the sound of the fifth shell in his shotgun echoing in his eardrums.

Bill looked up in amazement as Francis made his way down by climbing the asphalt and then began to reload his shotgun as if nothing had just transpired. Zoey was still coughing from the Smoker's grip on her, but all Francis was worried about was making sure his shotgun was fully loaded.

"Th-thanks, Francis," Zoey coughed, to which Francis nodded.

"Hey, the tunnel's blocked," Louis informed, pointing to a large truck that turned sideways, blocking their paths. "But there's a door open here. Come on, guys."

Francis piled in with Louis and Bill stuck around a minute longer to help Zoey to her feet and handed the Hunting Rifle her rifle. "I'm sorry…" Bill said lowly. "Sorry I didn't get to you in time."

"No harm, no foul," Zoey smiled. "Still in one piece, right? Let's catch up."

Bill nodded and followed Louis and Francis as they made their way down countless steps before stopping at some sort of generator room. He looked forward and could see that part of the ramp had broken off, and it was just a little jump from there to make it to the other side. He informed the others and took the first leap of faith, bringing himself to his feet and waited for the others to follow suit. Once done, the survivors headed back into the night, dispatching any infected that happened to be roaming within uncomfortable distance.

"Safe house up ahead!" Bill shouted, pointing to that savior-like red steel door. Once the survivors piled in, Bill turned and shut the door, letting out a sigh of relief. "All right, people. Take a few minutes to take a breath but no longer than that; we got some tracks to cross."

In this large generator room, Bill could see the words Exodus 9:15 in huge, black spray-painted letters. He tried to will himself to what it was, but couldn't come up with it. He had it on the tip of his tongue, he knew; Beatrice was always reading the bible in her spare time. She used to say it was something that kept her sane, and Exodus had been one of her favorite readings. But for the life of him, he couldn't remember.

"You ready to go, old man?" Francis asked.

"Just about. Gotta grab some more ammo." When Bill headed downstairs once again, he began loading up and thinking about the passage that was written. It bothered him that he couldn't remember, as Beatrice would see it as a long waste of time for even listening in the first place. He shook his head and glared down at the wooden table with all the ammunition. He saw that there looked to be a Bowie knife by the ammo container, and he quickly took it. He had lost his machete in the crash and was thankful to have anything close to a weapon he could use. He put the knife in his shirt pocket and moved on, Francis opening the door and the others following closely behind him.

They wound up in a sewage area that had interconnecting pipes. Following the pathway into a pipe that smelled to the fullest extent, they dropped down into another sewage area that housed many ladders. Once they descended them all, they found another sewage drop, to which they all sighed.

"Aren't we gonna get a disease from running around in other people's shit?" Louis asked.

"Look around ya, son. We're in the shit already. We've been in the shit for the past two weeks. You gonna start complaining now because your clothes are starting to smell? Be thankful we haven't run into the infected yet." Bill grinned and nudged Louis on the arm, falling into the slop a moment later, following it up to a ramp that housed yet another sewage pipe. When he reached the pipe, Zoey grabbed him from behind, causing him to jump and almost shoot her in the process.

"Witch," she said softly. "Lights off. Shh."

Bill nodded and clicked his flashlight off. When he peeked his head around the corner he could see her with her hands buried in her face, traditional Witch style, like all the others. Like Beatrice… He willed the thought away and motioned for Francis to come forward with his shotgun. Francis peeked around the corner and waited for the Witch to turn and face him before he placed the muzzle of the shotgun against her face and pulled the trigger. The Witch's body flailed and fell prostrate against the floor.

"Well, how about we get movin'?" Francis smiled, putting another shell into his shotgun.

They dropped down a ladder that let to the worst smelling sewage they had encountered thus far, which was saying a lot because the smell of the others made them want to vomit. Infected were sloshing around in the murky water and were quickly put down. It was easier to put them down because the water impaired their movement, making them much easier targets.

Bill followed the ramp around to an area with a dead Army personnel. The man was positioned close to a switch for the floodgates to close, which would lower the floodgates, allowing them to be used as a bridge to the staircase at the far end of the room. So when Bill flipped the switch, a loud siren buzzed around, and infected started jumping down from the pipes the survivors had just come from. They all fired below at the easy targets having had the upper advantage against them, and waited until the floodgates came down. They then walked across them and up the staircase in the corner.

When they reached the top, they followed the sewage pipes as tunnels, Francis taking the helm at decimating the Infected in close-quarters with his shotgun. This led the survivors into a tightly-squeezed room with many infected, all of whom took notice to the survivors that had entered their home. They wailed as they rushed forward, and were mowed down after wave after wave of gunfire tore into their bodies and cut them asunder. When all was said and done, Bill grinned and motioned his head forward, wishing he had had a cigarette that moment. It had been so long since the supply from the warehouse had been used up, and he didn't think highly of taking cigarettes off of the infected, though he knew that many of them probably had a pack in their pockets.

But when he reached the corner, Bill heard a growl and a large fist came flying towards him, missing him by mere inches, the large thing crashing into the wall next to him, crushing it. "Tank!" Bill shouted, already falling back as the hulking giant made its entrance and began to pace after them, bullets pinging off his thick muscular body. Bill was on his knee firing as the Tank came towards him. When the Tank reached him it grabbed him by the body and slammed him against the wall, Bill gasping for air as the wind was knocked out of him. Francis rushed to Bill's side and fired his shotgun into the Tank's back. The thing roared as shell after shell was dispensed, and it reached its arm backward, knocking Francis off his feet.

Louis and Zoey provided covering fire, but when it looked like things weren't going to plan, Louis reached for a bottle fastened on his belt and lit a rag. He threw the Molotov in the direction of the Tank and it caught really quickly, the monster thrusting his arms about trying to find a solution to alleviate its pain. Bill was already belly crawling by then, shooting glances back as the charred giant finally gave up its fight and crashed to the floor, the smell his skin giving Bill's nostrils a run for their money.

"Good, work, people," Bill coughed, lying on his back. "Good stuff."

"Here, let me help you up," Zoey said, bending down to give Bill some aid.

"Thanks, kid," he looked to Louis. "I owe ya one."

Climbing up a ramp way that had broken off from the upper level, the survivors exited through a window and followed the vast warehouse they were in around to a gated area and into another building, the red steel door of the safe house giving them all a breath of relief. When they were coming upon it, Bill scratched his head in confusion. He saw that the safe house was a train car, and he wasn't even aware that there was even any tracks around here. But rather than tempt fortune, he shrugged his shoulders and piled into the safe house, the other three survivors in tow.

Much like the other safe houses he's been in thus far, Bill saw that there was writing on the walls of the train car from other survivors who had been passing through. There was an almost illegible paragraph from another survivor warning other survivors to stay away from a certain infected, but he was able to read it fully.

It read: _"Stay away from the ones that cry. I saw one RIP apart ten people. Listen for them and walk around!! No sneak up behind them and if they don't hear you coming they are sitting ducks."_

This generated many replies from other survivors, such as: _"You go ahead. Sneaking works for me."_ And _"I'm happier now I can kill anybody I like."_ Bill cringed at the though of the person who wrote it, and another replied _"Psycho,"_ right below it.

Turning around, he saw another conversation written. It was about the Army.

It read: _"Where is the Army!" "All Dead." "They're around! They just pulled back!"_

And below that, _"Riverside: Overrun. Newburg: Overrun. The Army's not coming back. Get out!!!"_

"Jesus," Francis spat. "Buncha rays of sunshines, huh? I think these people hate more shit than I do. They sure sound like they do, complainin' on and on about the Army and Witches. You know what: I _hate_ the Army, and I _hate_ Witches, but you don't see me complainin' about them! I just kill the things. But you got people comin' in here with black markers and their fancy college handwriting and smarts and write up on the walls and—"

"This rant isn't going to end, is it?" Louis asked. "I mean, you're just going to keep going until you feel like stopping, aren't you?"

"I hate being interrupted," Francis answered, folding his arms.

Bill moved forward in the train car after loading up and saw something that made chills run up his spine. Somebody had written: _"They can't change back. Don't take them w/you. SAVE YOURSELF!!"_ Bill immediately thought of Beatrice and thought of what he had done. He would disagree with this poster, but agree with him or her entirely. He felt better knowing that Beatrice died by his own hand and was put to rest rather than living on the way she was.

"You guys ready?" Zoey asked. "We gotta start getting somewhere."

"All right, people," Bill said, opening the door to the safe house. "March."

The train yard was surprising empty for the most part. Bill shuffled forward with his M16 at the ready and noticed many of the dead infected at his feet. Some survivor or survivors had to be here very recently; the bodies looked like they were fresh and hadn't been here longer than an hour. He wondered if they were closing in on that survivor's colony the helicopter pilot was talking about earlier.

"I don't like this one bit," Bill said. "It's too quiet over here. Everyone, keep on your toes; we may have a survivor around here or a nut job with a gun. Let's stick together and try to see where these tracks."

As the four survivors followed the tracks to a wooden building, they could see that the bodies of infected were still large in number. There _were_ infected in the distance, but the path they needed to follow was conveniently swept through without any of them having to break a sweat, to which Bill was thankful. He still took the necessary precautions as he made his way past a new door: look in, sweep the area, then continue on. He could see that the three others with him felt the same and did not want to take any chances when it came to the sometimes crafty infected.

"Who do you think did this?" Zoey asked.

"I don't know," Bill answered. "But whoever it is, the guy sure knows how to use a gun. Look at these corpses; almost all of them have shots to the forehead or the upper body area. I think we may have some luck if we manage to run into him or her. We could sure use an extra pair of hands around here, especially if we're dealing with another marksman. Makes our lives a whole helluva lot easier."

"You said it," Louis agreed, grinning. "So what's say we just find the guy and ask him to join our ragtag group?"

"I hate meeting new people," Francis sighed. "If you ask me, you're all about to go lotion yourselves for some dude we haven't even met, and aren't even sure if he kicked the bucket or not. So let's save all this heroic bullshit for later when we find the fucker. If he doesn't want to come with us, we'll just take what he has and be on our way."

"We're not gonna rob the guy, Francis," Zoey said, shaking her head.

"Why not? It's every man for himself, right? We're in the world's biggest bar fight right now, and I don't know about you, but I plan on walking out of this place in one piece and get myself a nice shot of whiskey and a brew when I do. Man, I can just taste that beer now."

When they reached the end of the train, the four survivors hopped down and began following the road to a school bus that had crashed into a tree, the front of the bus still on fire. As they got closer, they saw a corpse lying just feet before the bus with a 9mm handgun and an M16 slung around his shoulder. When Bilk knelt down to inspect the body, he saw that he was killed not long ago.

"This your marksman?" Louis asked.

"It could be," Bill answered. "All's I know is we got ourselves another handgun and assault rifle though. Lou, grab yourself the M16 and Francis, you take the 9mm. Lord knows you're gonna need some extra protection with that close range shotgun as you can get." When the two settled on their weapons, Bill knelt down beside the man and rolled him over. Upon further inspection, Bill could see that there was a neat bullet hole in the center of his forehead, suggesting that there were more survivors than this poor bastard walking around.

"Let's keep followin' the road," Francis said. "The guy isn't going to get much livelier I you keep looking at him. Jesus."

The survivors dispatched of some straggling infected as they made their way down the road further, stopping at a storage shed for a moment to raid it for supplies, to which there were none. Leaving that place and following the trail of bodies up to a house on the top of the road, Bill knelt down and saw another corpse slumped against the wall with a battered and empty shotgun in his hands, the corpses of the infected surrounding him as well.

"What about him?" Louis asked.

"Looks like this guy got killed after he turned, so my guess is there are more of 'em around here somewhere. We just gotta keep looking."

The inside of the house used to be pretty once before blood stained the walls and a fire was erupted in the kitchen. Seeing as though there was nothing useful for the survivors to take within the house, they pressed on and followed the road and bodies to a cemetery. Bill saw that the road was blocked beyond that, and a sign that once read "Welcome to Riverside" was now written "Welcome to Hell."

"I _hate_ cemeteries," Francis wailed, looking over his shoulder. "gives me the creeps."

"We've been killing dead people for how long now?" Louis asked. "And a cemetery is the thing that bothers you the most? Really?"

"I don't know, man," Francis scratched his head. "I just really hate cemeteries."

Bill shook his head and continued on. Further into the cemetery was a beautiful church that had floodlights surrounding the entire area. His eyes lit up and he let out a big smile, thankful that there were survivors other than them that were still walking around. Safety in numbers, as he always thought. "The lights are on in that church!" he shouted in joy.

Francis chimed in. "The safe place is up there!"

"We made it!" Louis smiled. "Thank God, man, because I can really use a bite to eat and take a crap. It's been a while of holding it in if you know what I'm sayin'."

Zoey shook her head and squinted her eyes at Louis. "Gross, Lou. Come on."

Louis shrugged his shoulders. "What? A guy can't talk about crapping anymore?"

"Let's just get movin', people," Bill laughed. "We gotta make some new acquaintances. Sorry, Francis."

When they made it to the top and saw the red steel door of the safe house, Bill could hear someone muttering something on the other side of the door. He was saying, "Better safe than sorry. Better safe than sorry. Better safe than sorry." Before Bill was going to knock, he heard the man inside wail, "It's been an hour. Been an hour. Must be immune. That's right, must be immune. No, I have to be immune. I can't believe he bit me. I never should have let him in."

Bill shook his head and pressed his palm to his forehead. There wasn't a colony of survivors here; there was only one man who had been bitten and is freaking out.

"Who's there?" the Church Guy asked. "Is someone there? I've got a bell in here!" But before Bill could answer, he heard the man say very quickly, "I trusted you. You said you were immune. You said you were immune. Won't fool me twice. I can't believe he bit me, I can't believe he bit me. I'm gonna start ringing this church bell if you don't say something! Is someone there? Don't make me use this bell!"

"Jesus, this guy's flipped his lid," Louis whispered. "What do we do?"

"No matter how human they look," the Church Guy continued. "Won't be fooled twice. Don't get fooled twice. Don't get fooled twice. Better safe than sorry." Bill then heard the man cough violently.

Bill knocked on the door and said, "We're survivors, son! We got the infected on our tails and need to hole out in the safe house. Please, open the door!"

"No one gets in here until I know you're immune!" the Church Guy replied.

"We're as human as they come, son, I promise you," Bill answered. "Please, open the door."

"Nonono! You said that last time! You said that last time! I trusted you last time!"

"Let me try this," Francis said, clearing his throat and knocking. "Open up! We're the cops!"

"Oh yeah?" the Church Guy asked. "What's your badge number?"

"Uh," Francis began, scratching his head and then looking to the other survivors. "I don't think that cop thing worked."

"Ya think?" Zoey grinned.

"Who are you? What do you want?"

"Let's see, I'm Francis, that's Grandpa Bill and…_there's_ _zombies out here! Open the God damn door!_ Have a heart; we got a helpless old man with us!"

"Hey!" Bill yelled. "Open the door, son. This has gotten real old real fast. We're immune so you don't have to be scared on our accounts."

"You said that last time! No one rides for free! Ding, dong, ding, dong!" Overhead, the sound of the church bell rang loudly into the night. Bill could hear the howling that filled the air as the infected made their way to the cause of the noise. "Dinner's served! Come and get it!"

"I don't believe this," Bill muttered, firing as the infected flooded into the church. Both sides of the church were getting flooded as the barricades were being ripped down. All four survivors fired into the crowd, but they found that more and more of them were coming in. Louis grabbed for his belt once again and relinquished one of three pipe bombs the survivors had left, lit it, and hurled it through the air, watching the infected switch course in favor of the loud distraction. Moments later a blast was heard and body parts and blood shot up into the sky.

Minutes passed that felt like an eternity, and it seemed like the infected were not planning on stopping. In a last ditch effort, Bill ordered Zoey to cover their backs while Francis, himself, and Louis all shouldered the door to break it down. It was a long shot, but it was more than what they were currently doing.

Bill, Francis and Louis all shouldered the safe room door what seemed like countless times. When it gave, the door came crashing open, and Bill saw the man who had kept him from coming in coughing on the floor.

"Better safe than sorry…" he hacked as he shifted and turned, coughing.

Bill felt a numbness run through his body. He pulled out the Bowie knife that was in his shirt pocket and screamed as loudly as he could as he grabbed the man's shirt, lifted him to eye level, saw the fear in his eyes, and plunged the knife into his chest over and over again.

"You piece of shit!" Bill cried. "You utter fucking worthless excuse for a human being! You fucking _disgrace_! We could have _died_ out there, you know that? We could have _died_!"

Of course the Church Guy didn't hear him; he was long gone by the time the knife entered his body for the second time. And if that wasn't going to kill him, his soon turn towards the infected sure would have. But Bill kept thrusting his knife deeper and deeper into the man, cursing and shouting and crying and yelling as the Church Guy's blood painted Bill's face. His blood ran down his eyes and dripped off his chin.

"All right, God damn it!" Louis said, grabbing Bill's arm. "He's _dead_. He's fucking _dead_, man! _Stop it_! _Stop it_!"

Bill breathed heavily as he held firmly onto the Bowie knife that was caked in the Church Guy's blood. He could see that the young man hadn't been much older than his son or Zoey and he took especial notice to his eyes as they rolled dead in the back of his head. He spit the awful taste of blood that was in his mouth as Louis slowly let him go.

Bill could see Zoey's eyes burning into his heart. The eyes of Beatrice were burning into his heart. Zoey looked frightened; her mouth was slightly parted open in a gasped expression as she looked between Bill, the knife, and the Church Guy. When Bill looked over at Francis, all Francis did was look away and shake his head and began to barricade the door.

Bill thought long and hard about everything, until he pictured himself sitting in his living room listening to Beatrice read the bible. Her words echoed in his brain.

"_For if by now I had put forth My hand and struck you and you people with pestilence, you would then have been cut off from the earth." – Exodus 9:15 _

- - -

_I stared down at my barbaric hands and dropped the knife. A boy…I had killed a boy who was frightened because he was just looking out for himself after being fooled by others. But why didn't that stay my hand? Why did I keep thrusting that knife deeper and deeper knowing that he was no longer feeling it? Something inhuman took over my body at that moment; I became the animal that he very well came to fear—the animal that came into his domain to kill him. And it sickens me._

_- Sergeant William Overbeck, United States Army (Ret.)_

- - -

A/N: I hope you all liked the chapter. I'm so sorry it took me so long to put it up, but I've been quite busy. I wanted you all to realize something in this chapter and I hope you all noticed it. In the beginning of the chapter I wrote about Bill and Beatrice on the Ferris wheel and she coins the title of the story. I just wanted you all to know that when it's being said by Bill throughout the course of the story, or even previously, he says it in remembrance of her; just because she died within the story doesn't mean she won't appear later on, so I hope you all are very patient with the past sequences with Bill and Beatrice. She's an essential character in his development throughout the story.

And thank you for your continued support and patience with this story. I hope to have all of it done in no time so look for an update soon. God Bless.


	10. Death Toll: The Town, Boathouse Finale

X

Death Toll: The Town/Boathouse Finale

Bill sat on the floor with his back against the safe house door. He looked at the bloody corpse that was before him, a young man that was filled with many holes, all of which were caused by him and the Bowie knife he had in his possession. He could hear the other survivors on the top level of the bunker-like Safe House rummaging through supplies and helping themselves to the food that was stored in cans; it was the only thing they were able to eat since before being evacuated from the hospital, which felt like forever.

"Hey, Zoey, you think you can shoot any of those fuckers out there?" he could hear Francis ask. "I'll bet you five bucks you can't even shoot one of 'em."

Bill heard the loud bang of the Hunting Rifle ring out, following by a sigh from Francis. He heard him mutter "double or nothin'" before another shot rang out and he sighed once again, offering the same option.

Louis climbed down the wooden ladder and watched the corpse with Bill. Just like the Church Guy had said earlier about somebody claiming they were immune last time, Bill saw two other bodies within the safe house, not far away from the Church Guy's corpse. One appeared to have transformed into a Smoker, while the other unfortunate girl became a common infected.

"What are you thinking about?" Louis asked, trying to sound as delicate as he possibly can.

"I'm thinking about my son," Bill said, lighting a cigarette from a pack he ironically swiped from the pocket of the Smoker infected; he really needed one at that moment. After he took a long pull and exhaled all the burn out of his lungs, he rubbed his tired eyelids with his thumb and index finger. "I don't know where the hell he is right now or if he's safe. Looking at this kid here…I don't know. He looks to be around the same age as my son. And I killed him. He was someone's son. Do you think someone killed my son, Louis? Do you think there's another animal like me out there capable of doing this to a young man?"

"I think there are many of us out there, Bill; this kid was no exception. We're all losing it a little bit, and it doesn't make things any more right, but at least we're alive. This kid would've turned and attacked us like all the others. Even though the end came differently, it came nonetheless—we can't blame you for something we all would've done if we were the first ones in."

"That's still no excuse," Bill sighed, shaking his head. "When I came bursting through that door, I lost all control of myself. It felt like my old days back in 'Nam: I was in the jungle, and he was a Vietcong soldier. I had to kill him any way I could; it was instinct. I was back in the shit my mind tried so hard to leave behind. With Beatrice gone, it feels like I'm slowly slipping back into that reality."

"Well, we could really use a soldier right now, not a husband," Louis answered, reaching his hand out for Bill to grab, which he did. Lifting him up, Louis whispered, "You're the one who's holding us all together, Bill. I just wanted you to remember that. We see you down and out or out of the loop, we start to get a little hesitant about ourselves. You just need to try to hold it together. I know it's hard; there are still so many times my body burns inside when I pull that trigger, or the fear when it's entirely quiet, but I need to keep that in the back of my mind. This is the world we live in now, Bill. We need to get used to it."

Bill nodded slowly, receiving a nod and a pat on the shoulder from Louis. He was a surprising individual; at first he seemed like such a coward who Bill thought would slow them down or eventually get them all killed, but here he was, holding his own; that was something Bill could really aspire for. He grabbed his M16 and slung it over his shoulder, finished the cigarette he was smoking and crushed it under his boot.

"Hey, what's the hold up?" Francis yelled from upstairs. "Are we leaving or staying? We stay any longer and I'm gonna lose all my money to Zoey."

"Riverside's a bust," Louis called back "Let's just get to the river. We'll see what we can find there."

"That's better than my plan," Francis answered.

"What was that?" Louis asked, scratching his head.

"I didn't have one."

Bill shook his head grinned a little; he really needed something to get him in an uplifting mood, and Francis was usually filled with quirks or remarks that made one want to laugh. Whether or not he did it purposely, Bill didn't know, it was still amusing to him. When Bill climbed the wooden ladder to the second level, he could see newspaper clippings littered against the floor, as well as a can of beans the others had left for him to eat.

He took his first gracious bite and savored the flavor for as long as he could. He hadn't had anything to eat in a long while like everyone else, and something like a simple can of beans made his taste buds explode with the entire flavor. After his first bite, he wolfed down the remaining contents of the can and threw it to the side, wiping the small trickle of juice that saturated itself in his beard.

"See? That's nasty!" Francis winced. "That's what you gotta shave that shit off your face, old man. Or you could keep a goatee like me. See how it's nice and not bushy and grey and old like you?"

"Put a lid on it, Francis," Bill grinned, shuffling forward. "We need to get to the river and see if we can contact those folks that helicopter driver was telling us about."

Once Bill left the safe house, he looked beyond at a crumbling city, a crumbling society. He hadn't witnessed such a disastrous site since leaving Dodge, but what he saw made him want to vomit. Several infected were pacing back and forth in the street not too far from where they were. There were two buses that crashed into the surrounding wall outside the church, and a truck on the opposite side that had done the same thing, giving the survivors a route to leave the area.

Bill scoped his surroundings and shook his head; there were a lot of those infected in the streets and they could easily flank them if they were to go down. He turned to Zoey and nodded to her Hunting Rifle. "Think you can thin their ranks a bit before we head down there? There are some pretty long targets."

"Yeah, I can manage," she answered. "My dad taught me how to use this rifle pretty well." She gracefully took a knee and used her scope to pick off some of the infected that were to her left, protected from view by the wall surrounding the church. She waited until the slightest piece of flesh appeared in her crosshairs and fired, usually being rewarded by a burst of blood or a body collapsing onto the ground. She reloaded her rifle and look through her scope once again, taking down three more infected before she looked back to Bill and shook her head, indicating that that was all she could do from the vantage point they were currently on.

"All right, people, let's move," Bill ordered, slinging his M16 across his back and climbing down the wooden ladder to his left. Once on the ground level, he took a knee and waited for the other survivors to descend as well. And when he was waiting, he saw a blur flash across his eyes, much too quick to be some common infected. "Careful," he warned the others. "I think I heard a goddamn Hunter around."

Francis had his 9mm out because of the poor range of his shotgun. He ran ahead of Bill and crept slowly towards the shattered wall before the blur flew across the sky and landed right on top of him, attempting to claw him to pieces.

Zoey, without even hesitating, took an unscoped shot at the Hunter and saw his chest cavity blow away, letting out once yelp of pain before sliding off of Francis. When Francis arose, he spit on the Hunter's corpse and looked back to the survivors. "What?" he asked. "I came out here to lure him out so you guys could shoot him. Can't a guy do something decent for a change?"

Louis chuckled. "So you're telling me that you intentionally let that Hunter jump on you so we would shoot it?"

"Yeah, that's what I said. I hate repeating myself."

Passing the crumbled wall, the survivors came upon an empty truck that had bloodstains within it. It seemed that the person driving the truck lost all control but was still alive when the crash occurred. The bloodstains seemed to have came out of the truck and painted a path.

"Jesus," Francis said aloud. "Some people just shouldn't get driver's licenses. They suck."

"They probably died, Francis."

"Serves them right for being bad drivers. I hate bad drivers."

"Let's get into that grocery store and see what we can find," Zoey suggested, passing all of the men on her way, rifle choked up to her chin. She took slow, easy steps as she entered the store, the others directly behind her. The place was a wreck; the microwave was on the floor and the place must've been looted more times than any of them could count, but the room to their right made Zoey a little queasy. The patron of the truck seemed to have died in this room: there was a bloodstain path that led up to a woman who was slumped against a wall, a shotgun at her feet.

"Looks like she ain't gonna be needing this anymore," Francis said, picking up the shotgun and unloading the shells. When he saw the other survivors looking at him for his insensitivity, he shrugged his shoulder and said, "What? She ain't."

Through the grocery store and inside an empty storage container that held some common infected yielded nothing for the survivors. When they were done cleaning house, they exited and moved further up the street, stopping at the corner so they could all get into position.

They heard howling and shrieks fill the night, following by the clang of a chain link fence.

"Dammit! Here they come!" Louis yelled, taking aim at the infected on the other side of the fence and firing. As they were all concentrating their fire on the fence jumpers, they didn't notice the infected that flanked them and found the route in the warehouse. Before any could react, they were bulldozed to the floor, scrambling to get to their feet. It was here that Bill first heard what seemed to be a cry from Zoey as some infected were on top of her, stomping on her and clawing at her; she thought she was going to die.

Bill tried to reach for the M16 that was beyond his reach before relinquishing his M1911s and firing into Zoey's mob, watching as they all fell on by one. Louis and Francis seemed to have been holding their own, Louis managing to make it to his feet and firing into the same mob on top of Zoey and protecting Bill while he laid covering fire. Once the smoke cleared, Bill grabbed his assault rifle and made a dash sprint for Zoey, who was still on the floor breathing heavily, blood escaping her lips, nose, and forehead.

"Hey, you're gonna be all right, darlin'," Francis assured her, picking her up and looking around. "In there!" he yelled, motioning his head to a barricaded store front with its door missing. They all rushed Zoey within and Louis stood guard at the front, his M16 pointing at the street.

Bill and Francis set her down gently, Francis reaching over his back for his Med Kit. He took out disinfectant and bandages and began to swab at the cuts on Zoey's face carefully. Zoey winced. "I know it stings, darlin', but we need to get you cleaned up." Bill was surprised how nurturing Francis was towards Zoey; he wasn't sure what his intentions were, if he saw her as an attraction or a little sister, but nevertheless, he stepped up to the plate. "How's that feel?"

"Better," Zoey winced in pain. "We can't stay in here any longer. We get another wave like that and we're trapped like rats in here. I can move."

"Are you sure?" Bill asked. "We can stay in here 'til you're up to leaving."

"I'm up to leaving now," Zoey answered. "We don't need a Tank rushing in here, either. We need to go. Just give me a hand."

Bill extended his hand and lifted Zoey up. "All right, Francis take the rear and Zoey, stay in front of him. Louis and I will take point and we'll stop if we have to. Don't push yourself, all right? We need you healthy first, brave second. Remember that."

Zoey gave a curt nod and followed in suit in front of Francis and behind Louis. They trekked up the lonely and cold street, stopping at the corner to see what was before them. The street was littered in derailed cars and buses. Bill took a deep breath and peeked his head out further to see the infected roaming the streets.

"All right, here's the plan. We're going t—"

Before Bill could finish his sentence, a Smoker's tongue wrapped around his neck and pulled him towards the infected. Bill gasped for air as he felt his trachea collapse under the sheer strength of the Smoker.

Wasting no time, Francis and Louis took to firing close range while Zoey shuffled backwards and covered them with her Hunting Rifle. Through all the thick of the firefight, Zoey could not spot the Smoker that had Bill in its grasp, nor could she spot Bill himself.

"Bill!" Francis called out, blowing the face of an infected off with his shotgun. "Bill!" He coughed as he got further and further into the thick of the smoke, his eyes watering. He could hear Louis calling Bill's name out as well in-between firing, but it seemed as though none could see or hear him.

Finally, Francis found Bill lying face-down, the Smoker's tongue still around his neck. But to the left of him lay a dead Smoker with what looked to be a knife lodged in its neck. Francis flipped Bill over and lightly slapped his cheek until Bill's eyes shot open and he coughed right in Francis' face, causing Francis to close his eyes in annoyance as Bill shuffled to his side, trying to untangle himself.

When Zoey and Louis caught up, he could see the worried look in their eyes. In mere minutes, they got, for lack of a better termed, fucked up pretty bad. Bill shook off the incident like it was nothing, shooting a grin and a wink to Zoey before getting on his knees and removing the Bowie knife from the Smoker's neck. "Fella picked the wrong guy to mess with."

He wiped the blood on the Smoker's clothes before placing the knife back inside his shirt pocket. Zoey handed Bill his rifle back and he nodded and smiled at her once again in order to reassure her. After Louis' talk with him back in the safe house, Bill was sure that they held his "leadership" in high regards. He wasn't about to get her more scared than she was at that moment. He pressed on without saying another word.

The survivors followed the street to their right and into a building that housed a small hallway. Inside were two infected back to back, who were dealt with by a burst from Bill's Assault Rifle. The room directly left of that had more infected hanging around what appeared to be support beams that were currently being constructed on. Bill shook that thought away; they would never construct anything in this place again.

After dealing with those infected, the survivors found themselves back on the street. It was littered with infected, all of whom took notice to their area that was invaded. They all rushed the survivors and were hacked down in a hail of gunfire, until an earth shattering roar made their eardrums want to explode. From behind the infected ranks, a car flew through the air and landed on several of them. A blood-thirsty Tank rushed its way through, smashing any infected in its way.

"Tank!" Zoey yelled, aiming her rifle for the upper chest area of the Tank and firing, missing several shots before finally connected.

Louis and Bill both took knees and fired in the direction of the Tank, their bullets seemingly being brushed off as if nothing was harming it. Francis, on the other hand, cocked his shotgun and ran ahead of the others. He was mere feet away from the Tank and unloaded the rounds in his shotgun into the Tank's face. The beast roared and blindly ran in the same direction, swatting as he did. Francis dove out of the way and the combination of Bill, Louis, and Zoey's firepower brought the beast down to its knees, lifeless.

"Anything else you got?" Francis roared into the night. "That all you pussies have?"

"Francis, shut the hell up!" Louis interjected. "You tryin' to get us all killed or something?"

Francis shrugged Louis off and followed Bill and Zoey. As they walked down the bloodstained street, they noticed a MACK truck with its headlights blaring, lighting up the street. Past that was another interconnecting street that held buildings. Once the survivors got close enough, they noticed a piece of plywood was graphitized in the shape of a house with a plus sign in the middle and an arrow pointing up.

"Whoo! Safe house up ahead!" Francis cheered. "Let's get our sorry asses up there and let's get the fuck out of Riverside!"

"Couldn't have said it any better myself," Zoey agreed.

The path leading to the second floor balcony was blocked, probably as a precautionary measure, but the ones who made this make-shift path allowed for the survivors to climb on top of a van and up to the second floor. Once they were all there, Bill lead the way and froze when a Smoker stopped dead in its track directly outside of the door. Bill didn't hesitate and fired into the chest and lower body of the Smoker, the infected letting out an exasperating sigh as it exploded, causing all the other survivors to cough.

"Jesus, what a dumb ass," Francis laughed. "Did you see the look on that thing's face when it saw you on the other side of the railing. It was probably thinking, 'Oh, shit…' before being completely fucked up. Good shot, old man."

"It was only two feet in front of me, Francis. A three-year-old kid could make that shot."

"Just take the fuckin' compliment. Man, the three people I could possibly get stuck with and it has to be you lot. No sense of humor."

"Quit your yammering and check this out. Present from 'old Saint Bill." Bill had in his hands another 9mm handgun he found on the desk upon entering. He handed it off to Francis, who took it graciously and placed it in the back of his pants along with the other one. Bill hadn't noticed it earlier, but the infected that littered this area were more cops and military than they were civilians.

_Guess they failed to hold this place up too…_ Bill thought grimly. When the hell are we going to catch a break? When are we going to get to the area that says, _All survivors welcome here. We have plenty of food and guns and shelter for everybody._

"You ready, Bill?" Louis asked, nudging him with his rifle.

Bill nodded and proceeded forward, surprised that there was absolutely no resistance. It seemed to be an office once, and as they explored the rooms, they found that there was a metal ramp on the other side of the window in the conference room, along with weapons and ammunition on the table further below.

"Guess the military couldn't keep this place up, either," Zoey sighed. "Are there even any safe places left in the world?"

"We'll worry about that when we come to it. For now, though, let's restock on ammo and better-conditioned weapons if need be and get the hell out of here."

Following the ramp down, Bill and the others helped themselves to the ammo on the table, reloading their magazines and weapons. Bill also took the time to inspect their surroundings. The buildings on both sides were completely boarded up, and as he made his way further on, he noticed that there was a barricade set up lined with the bodies of civilians and military alike.

"Poor bastards barricaded themselves inside the city. All it musta took was one infected…" Bill sighed. He looked around his surroundings and saw that there was no way on the other side of the barricade. But to his left was a forklift. He noticed that it was holding up a section of the metal ramp. With luck, if it had any gas on it, he could power the forklift and lower the prongs so that he and the others could get to the other side. It seemed like a real farfetched plan, but he knew he had to risk it, even if it meant alerting the infected to their position.

"Guys, come take a look at this," Bill called out, pointing ot the ramp. We lower this ramp, we can get across. But the noise might alert some unwanted company. I wanted to know how you all felt about the plan."

Francis walked over to the forklift and turned it on, lowering the ramp. Once fully on the ground, the forklift kicked back and dropped the ramp, causing it to thud against the ground hard, setting off the car's alarm. Howling filled the air.

"Run like hell!" Zoey screamed, running as fast as she could, Louis and Francis directly behind her. She noticed that Bill was keeping pace with the others as well, but at a hobbled state; his leg had certainly seen better days.

The survivors dropped down to the street below and maneuvered past a bus and into a series of alleys. Frantic, not knowing what to do and the infected at their heels, Francis screamed, "Over here!" running further into a long alleyway and hanging a left towards a fire escape staircase. "Move! Move! Find a path!" he called out, taking a position at the top of the staircase, shotgun at the ready.

The others pressed on into the building, passing several dead military personnel along the way. Bill smashed the window leading outside and followed a makeshift bridge onto the next roof, running into that room as well. By then, the infected had caught up, and the thunder from Francis' shotgun can be heard throughout the air.

"Francis! Make your way to us! Come on!" Louis and Bill laid covering fire for Francis as he fired off his last round and followed their path, almost falling as the makeshift bridge collapses under his feet. They followed the exit outside of the building they were in and ran against the adjacent roofs to a big drop below. The infected had followed their path and some were climbing the chain link fence directly behind them.

"Safe house!" Zoey called out. The door was shut and Zoey prayed to God that it wasn't barred or locked, and when she pushed it, it gave and opened. She then shuffled inside and gasped for air, waiting for the others. Francis and Louis were easily inside just as quickly as she was, and Bill was hobbling over, the infected right on his tail. Once he made it inside, they tried to shut the door, only to be bombarded by the massive amount of infected.

"Shoot them! Shoot them!" Bill yelled, firing his assault rifle into the crowd, receiving a mist of blood that painted his face.

Francis shoved his shotgun into the crowd and fired off round after round after round and Louis continued to push the door closed. As it gave more and more, they noticed that there were too many bodies in the way. Zoey grabbed Louis' M16 and fired into the crowd as well, cursing and shouting as she did, and eventually, the infected lost their numbers and the door was able to close.

"Is anybody hurt?" Bill asked, to which he received three shaking heads. He then collapses onto the floor and placed his back against the safe house door, listening to the pounding from the infected on the other side. "I thought we were done for there. Jesus, Mary, and Joseph."

"We're not sure if that door can hold out for much longer," Louis said. "I say we stock up and get the hell out as soon as we can. We don't want to be here when and if that door comes crashing down; there's too many of them."

"Lou's right," Francis agreed. "Everyone grab a ration and some ammo and let's get the hell out of here. Old man, Zoey, you guys good to go?"

Zoey nodded, as did Bill, who got back up and caught his breath. He moved forward to the ration crates and pulled two rations for himself, one that he placed in his Med Kit pouch and another that he immediately ate. The K rations were actually better than the can of beans he had eaten in the church, and he knew that he needed all the food he could get to keep his strength up. He took especial notice to the graffiti that was written on the walls. A person who couldn't obviously spell posted, _"We have sown the seeds of sin this is our punishmint." _

Another side of the walls posted news of people who had died and the location of Evac Echo, to which there was some confusion amongst the posters. On the other far side of the wall was a message saying, _"The Army left us to die."_

"Old man, let's get going," Francis said, opening the safe house door and blasting the first infected the saw. When they left, they noticed that they were in a parking garage that had a van in it. Francis shook his head and said, "I hate vans," before kicking the tire with his foot.

Louis took the to go back and shut the safe house door in case the infected burst through, giving them more time to escape their radar. Once he rejoined the others, they opened the door at the far end of the garage and found themselves back onto the street. Immediately outside, they noticed a row of houses and a military Humvee and dead military personnel on the ground.

"Damn. These guys didn't know what they were getting into," Louis said lowly, breathing heavily. "There's bound to be one of these houses we can go through. The military probably set something up before they bailed."

"You mean got killed?" Francis said, pressing on. "I see flood lights coming from this house. I say we go in there and see what we can find." Following his advice, the survivors pressed on inside the house that yielded more ammunition and bodies of dead military personnel. "Still think these guys just bailed, Lou?"

"Guess not," Louis answered dryly. "Doesn't mean we need to end up like 'em, though."

They found the back door of the house that led them to a wooden area with various infected roaming the open field. Zoey and Bill both took potshots at the infected, cutting down as many of them as they could. The ones that got too close for comfort were dealt with by Louis and Francis.

Once the last infected was dealt with, Francis wiped his mouth and spat, "I hate small towns."

"Yeah, we know, Francis. You hate a lot of things."

"Damn straight I do. And I'll keep on sayin' 'em when we get to them. It's best if you know what I hate so you won't get me something I don't like."

Heading into the open field, the survivors came up to a sign that read, '_Riverside Park: Picnic Grounds and Swimming Area.'_

"Looks like this is the place," Bill said. "Let's follow this trail up to the river."

They followed the trail through to a house that had flood lights and barricades. They felt uneasy passing through the quiet woods as they did, all of them looking around, paranoid that something was going to jump out and get them. But as they made their way closer and closer to the house, there was little resistance, and the infected that were in their way were cut down. Finally, as they reached the door, they heard the crackling of a radio.

"_Come in, refugees! This is John Slater. If you can here this, we will ferry anyone with weapons and ammo. Please respond. Is anyone there? Anyone with some firepower on this frequency, please pick up."_

"How ya doin'?" Bill said into the receiver.

"_Hello? Hello? Hello!"_ came John's excited voice. _"We're heading to the military outpost upriver. We can come get you in ten minutes. Arm yourselves for the trip and let me know when to head out." _

"Come and get us, John. We're good to go," Bill said with a smile on his face. "Just don't take any longer getting here; these bastards aren't letting up."

"_Alright, we're on our way. Make sure you clear the area. I don't want my first act of kindness to be my last."_

"It's pretty clear now, John. Make your way over to us ASAP. We'll see you in ten. Out."

"_Roger that. Out."_

"Rescue boat's on its way here," Bill said. "We just gotta hold out for ten minutes. Everybody, take positions in the house. Louis, you and I will guard downstairs, Francis, get the top of the staircase in case any make their way out and Zoey, cover upstairs."

They all nodded and shuffled into position. Not long after, there was a howling that filled the night. It seemed as though the infected that they were worried about had crashed through the safe house doors and were making their way to them. They all tensed and braced themselves for the inevitable impact.

The inside of the house exploded as infected shuffled inside, pushing their way in so they could grab a meal. Bill held them back with bursts from his assault rifle, blood spraying all over his face, while Louis was holding his own on the other side of the house. They could hear John Slater's voice saying, "We'll be there in five minutes!" as they continued to fend off their attackers. Francis and Zoey had their hands full on the top level, both of them muttering and cursing as the infected continued to pile into the house.

"Jesus, is there no fucking end to these guys?" Bill heard Francis call out.

"Just shut up and keep shooting!" Bill called back, reloading his rifle. A piece of rubble smashed the outside of the house and scattering along the balcony. From as far as he could see, Bill noticed a Tank making its way towards the house. "We got a Tank coming!" he shouted to Francis and Zoey upstairs. "Brace yourselves!"

As the infected ranks were thinning out, the Tank was coming closer and closer towards the house. Francis and Zoey ran downstairs to help clean out as much as they could before the behemoth showed its face, and when it did, it was greeted with a flurry of bullets.

"We're fucked! We're fucked! We're fucked!" Louis cried, his voice inaudible as round after round of his M16 penetrated the Tank's thick skin. The beast roared as it tried to push its way into the house. But as it tried to do that, more and more infected were rushing the back of the house, greeted by Francis' shotgun.

"We need to get the hell out of this house!" Francis yelled.

"_We'll be there in two minutes!"_ John's voice called out.

"Jesus, move your ass!" Francis shouted to John, though he couldn't hear him. He tapped Zoey on her collar and motioned for her to move outside. He did the same to Bill and Louis just as the Tank found its way in. Francis could hear honking, and as he looked out to the lake, the noticed a floodlight peering through the fog.

"The boat's here! Everybody make your way to the dock!"

"RUN!" Louis screamed in terror.

The Tank was unrelenting even as the ferry pulled up to the dock. John Slater jumped off the ferry and began to pull a rope from the boat in an attempt to steady her as the survivors made their way towards him. Zoey was the first to board the ferry, encouraging Francis, who was right behind her, onto the ferry and began to cover John, shooting an infected that managed to flank their side. Louis and Bill were still contending with the Tank, both wielding the M16 assault rifle, each aimed at the large mass that was its midsection. By now it had moved closer toward the docks along with the survivors.

"I can't hold her for long, folks!" John screamed above the gunfire. "We need to go! _Now_!"

Bill emptied a clip from his assault rifle and slammed another home. He saw that Louis was waving his arm forward in an indication that he should make a run for the ferry, and that was just what he did. He sprinted as fast as his injured leg would allow him to sprint and leapt from the dock onto the deck of the ferry, John still ashore pulling onto the rope with all his might.

"Lou! Get your ass on board!" Francis shouted, watching as the junior analyst left a blinded Tank and made a hurried sprint for the dock. As soon as Louis reached the dock, John let go of the rope and hopped aboard, turning around to offer Louis a helping hand as he narrowly made it to the edge of the ferry. His legs flailed and pounded into the ferry's side as he was pulled up and onto the deck, sighing a deep sigh of relief, the sweat trickling down his face and neck.

"Amanda! Get this thing movin'!" John shouted to his wife, who pulled away from the dock quickly. The large boat shifted left and right to adjust to the quick turn, and that was when John got a real good look at the first Tank he had ever seen; muscles upon muscles, mass upon mass, and to top it off, an angry snarl that made any man's man want to piss themselves. "Oh, shit! Look out!"

The Tank dug its hands into the hard earth and pulled out what seemed to be a small boulder. It hefted it over his shoulder and cocked its large arm back and threw it with all of its might, narrowly missing the ferry. The hulking giant saw the ferry off and roared loudly into the night, in what seemed to be a cursed mock towards the eluding survivors.

"Oh, God," Louis panted, laughing lightly. "Did I just become a man?"

"We'll see after we check your pants for any wet spots," Francis answered.

"Thanks for the pickup, John," Bill wheezed. "We thought we were gonna end up being mashed by that thing there. You came right on time."

"Don't mention it," John sighed, still obviously exhausted from holding onto that rope for dear life. He looked to be middle age, with salt and pepper hair that masked the wrinkles that made up his brow. His eyes were so dark that they were almost camouflaged by the night. He was also a very tall man, taller than Bill thought he sounded, and was dressed in what seemed to be military fatigues. "How'd you find out about the ferry?"

"From the pilot who picked us up from Mercy Hospital."

John froze for a moment and smiled. "Nathan Hill, that son of a bitch. Why isn't he here with you?"

"Nathan was his name, huh?" Bill questioned. "When we got picked up from Mercy Hospital, Nathan was already bitten from an infected girl he had rescued from the streets. He didn't know she was infected until she turned in his chopper and bit him on the shoulder. He managed to boot her out and made his way to us. When we boarded and took off, he was in bad shape. He was telling us of the unsuccessful drop he attempted before coming to rescue us and told us about you two, said that you had a ferry docked on the other side of the river that comes to pick up survivors in case something happens. It wasn't much longer 'til the poor guy…you know…he changed."

John was silent for a few seconds, the only sound the sloshing of the waves as they hit the side of the ferry. "He was a good man," he finally said. "Always had a smile on, always out to protect people. You know, he volunteered to go to Mercy to pick up those civilians, even though he didn't have to. The military had a post up there and Nathan volunteered to drop more soldiers off and transport survivors because he was one of the only ones who knew how to pilot a helicopter. He lost his wife and daughter to the infection days before."

Bill felt the choked up feeling coming up in his throat again. He had predicted that Nathan was a father, and, like him, had lost his family. Bill didn't know the fate of his son, but for all he knew he was dead, and thinking he was out there somewhere when the reality was he was just as dead as everyone else didn't make anything any easier for him. It made him want to weep.

"It's a shame a man like that had to lose his life and family," Bill said, shaking his head. "It's because of him that we're here now. He may have passed away along the path, but he showed us where to go, or at least told us. So we're his living legacy in that we're the last survivors he transported safely."

The survivors introduced themselves to Amanda Slater as she let the ferry drift on its own. She came out with something to eat for them. It wasn't much, some cheese and crackers with two bottles of water to share, but to them it was a three-course meal. Bill thought that the cheese was better than all the steaks he had in his life combined, and he was upset to find that he nearly wolfed them all down before he even had a chance to savor the flavor.

"So where are we headed?" Louis asked. "How far is the survivor colony Nathan told us about?"

John pointed further out to sea. "Well, we were docked much closer than where we have to go. You see that piece of land over there? That's Newburg. Once we clear Newburg, it's smooth sailing to the survivor colony in Allegheny. The military has everything there, from food to APCs and RPGs. We're completely untouchable there."

"Are there more than one military station in Allegheny?" Bill asked.

John nodded. "A few. But we haven't heard from those stations in days. It's probable that they were overrun and killed, but we pray day in and day out that they just had malfunctions with their radios and they are holding out just fine. But with the way things are now, it's silly to hope for the good when there's none to be found."

As they were nearing the shore of Newburg, a large, unfocused blur was on the land.

"What is that, John?" Amanda asked as she squinted her eyes to get a better look.

What she didn't realize was the Tank that had a large boulder at the ready. He seemed to rip the boulder clean from a chunk of the mountainside, and as all the survivors tensed, the Tank hefted the large boulder over his shoulder and threw it with all his might.

"Oh, please, God," Louis prayed. "Please let it miss. Please let it miss."

The boulder found its home directly in the center of the boat. It immediately capsized and the survivors, along with the Slaters, were thrown overboard. Saltwater filled Bill's lungs as he tried to assess where the others were and how close land was as well. He swam in the first direction he noticed land and saw that there were others who were swimming alongside him as well.

On land were Zoey, Francis, Louis, Bill, and John. John looked around frantically for his wife, watching the waters. "Oh, Jesus! Amanda! Amanda! Oh, God, where are you?"

They heard loud, thunderous footsteps making their way towards them. Bill tensed and aimed his assault rifle forward. He wasn't even sure if it would fire after being in the water, but reflex along made him do it. Within seconds, they noticed that the Tank was holding Amanda Slater by her slender neck.

The bottom half of her was missing.

"Run!" Bill yelled, grabbing John's collar, to which he shrugged him off.

"Amanda!" he cried out, falling to his knees. The survivors all fired upon the Tank, and to their surprise, their weapons were working. The Tank threw Amanda's corpse like a softball. It ignored the survivors, instead focusing entirely on John Slater, who looked up slowly in terror before standing up and running into the wooded area beyond, the hulking giant following suit. "Nonononono!" the survivors heard him cry out, and when Bill went to follow them into the woods, Francis grabbed him by the collar and motioned for him to move in the other direction.

"What the fuck are you doing?" Bill yelled. "The man needs our help!"

"He's dead, old man! Might as well buy us more time to get the hell out of here!"

"You can't mean that!"

They heard a loud-pitched screamed that made the night dead silent. The survivors, all wide-eyed, ran in the direction of the closest building they could find. It was a few minutes run from where they were, but when they got inside, they quickly barricaded the door with a sofa and table that was inside, and all collapses onto the floor, Louis grabbing his head and Zoey crying slightly. Francis rung out the water from his leather vest and walked upstairs. It seemed as though they were in a greenhouse.

Bill followed him upstairs, as did Zoey and Louis, and he grabbed him by his vest angrily and punched him in the face as hard as he could, knocking him down. "You son of a bitch!" Bill shouted. "That man risked his life to save ours and you fucking left him for dead?"

"It was him or us! You told him to run with us and he didn't. He ran the other way! The poor bastard got what he deserved for acting stupidly!"

"You animal, you--!" Bill advanced on Francis but was stopped by Louis, who stood in front of him and held him with all his might.

"Bill, calm yourself. We need to be quiet so that thing doesn't find us."

"Yeah, what he said," Francis agreed, standing up. "And who are you calling an animal? I took matters into my own hands, just like you did with that kid in the church. Was that necessary? Maybe you and I aren't so different after all, old man. Maybe that's why we've survived for as long as we have. Because we do what we gotta do to live."

"That doesn't make anything right!" Bill yelled in a whisper.

"Right?" Francis laughed. "What the hell does that word even mean anymore? Look around you; the world ain't "right," hasn't been in a long time. 'Bout time you start realizing that, old man, before—"

Francis' words were cut off by a loud noise that hovered above them. As they all looked to the roof of the greenhouse, they noticed a plane flying in low altitude hovering above them. They all looked to one another, wondering if what they had just seen was real or a mirage.

- - -

_We all couldn't believe the site before us. It was the first sign of civilization since this entire mess started. We all wondered if the pilot knew of a safe haven for survivors or if he was heading towards the airport thinking that was the haven. Nevertheless, I wondered more if he knew he was flying directly into Dead Air. _

_- Sergeant William Overbeck, United States Army (Ret.)_

- - -

A/N: I'm sorry it took so long for me to write this chapter, guys; I was very busy with stuff. I hope you guys enjoyed the chapter. Sorry if it seemed to drag on at certain parts; I need to get my rhythm back with this story. Until next time, take it easy, faithful readers.


	11. Dead Air: Greenhouse, Crane, Constructio

XI

Dead Air: The Greenhouse, Crane, Construction Site

The shock of an airplane in a dead civilization was too much for any of them to hope or wish for, but there it was, in all its majesty, gliding through as if nothing in the world was wrong. Bill's anger with Francis had subsided for the moment; he knew that in a strange way Francis was right about John Slater; Bill had told the man to run with them to avoid the Tank, but he was too frozen to move, and Bill had begun thinking about his own foolishness when he thought about rescuing a dead man.

"That plane's heading for the airport and the airport ain't far," Francis said, pressing forward. "If nobody's got a better idea, I say we head for the airport too."

"Francis, that's one of the smartest ideas you've ever come up with. I'm game." Louis ejected the clip from his still soaking M16 and tried to wring out the water as much as he could. He didn't know if it would fire—they all didn't know if their guns would fire—but they all followed suit and began to wring out their weapons magazines and stocks as well.

"And what about you?" Francis asked Bill. "You still wanna go out there with that Tank and go lookin' for your buddy?"

Bill lowered his eyes and pursed his lips. "You were right, Francis; he's dead. No point looking for a dead man, right? So, come on, people. Let's get moving before we miss this flight."

The survivors were in a single closed-off room that had a staircase leading to the main greenhouse area. They were all soaking wet, hadn't had anything decent to eat in a while, and they were tired. _Very_ tired. Bill couldn't remember the last time he had slept.

Following Bill, reloading his M16 with a fresh, dry magazine, the survivors piled into the large, vast room that housed minimal resistance. Zoey aimed with her rifle and pulled the trigger, sending a projectile right into the forehead of an infected on the other side of the room, the firefight blazing as soon as she shot. The room was large enough to give the survivors some breathing room before their targets came to them.

With those dispatched, Bill climbed through a shattered window directly in front of him, leading him to the rooftops of many buildings. A makeshift bridge made of wood saw the survivors safely across, though the bridge had certainly seen better days.

They entered the building next door in the same fashion, Bill cringing as his boots creaked under the wooden floor below him. Things were certainly quiet around there, and Bill only hated it more. He'd rather know he was facing an army of the monsters than think there was one lurking in the shadows ready to pounce on him when it got the chance.

"Jesus," Francis said, "they really took a toll on this house, huh?" The house was simply a wreck; blood had found its home both on the walls and the floor, with a blood trail leading to a woman crouching by the refrigerator in their kitchen, obviously dying of her wounds. There was a man laying dead in the next room, possibly her husband, or possibly the infected she killed before she gave up the ghost. Families didn't exist any longer, Bill knew. There were no more Christmas dinners, New Year's Eve parties…they were all gone.

"Come on," Zoey motioned, butting Francis in the back with her rifle. "We need to keep moving."

"Now, hang on a sec, darlin'," Francis said, walking over to the woman by the refrigerator. He swept at her with his boot and sent her to the floor. He then opened the refrigerator.

"Francis!" Zoey shouted in a whisper, appalled.

"What? I'm hungry! You hungry? She ain't gonna be needin' this no more. Might as well take a look around the kitchen and see if there's something we can chow down on."

"But what if the plane—"

"If the plane is gonna take off without us, it's gonna do it anyway. What's another minute to look around and see if we can get something in our stomachs? We need the energy."

Louis and Bill had already begun rifling through the cabinets and Francis noticed that the only thing that hadn't expired or wasn't moldy in the refrigerator was a bottle of salad dressing, much to his dismay, that he expressed with a loud sigh. He threw the bottle against the wall and turned and kicked the woman he had shoved aside earlier. "I hate ranch dressing! Next time, buy some fuckin' food!"

"Francis!" Zoey shouted once more.

"Look what I found here!" Louis shouted out. He relinquished a half-empty jar of peanut butter and dug his fingers into it, giving the jar to Bill, who gave it to Zoey and so on. It wasn't much, but it was enough to keep them going for the meantime. Zoey giggled at Bill, who had gotten some peanut butter on his beard, and the old man laughed it off; they all needed something to laugh at to make it through this, even if it was to their own disadvantage.

Once their feast was done with, they climbed through yet another window to end up on the roof that held many, many infected. The moment they all heard the aluminum under the survivors' feet stir, they all looked upon them, some of them getting their faces or limbs blasted off, before sounding the attack. They moved swiftly and worked in packs, trying to flank the survivors on their blind side. Francis had that area covered, though, and blasted anything that came his way. At the corner of his eye he saw an infected with a hooded sweatshirt watching them. "Hunter!" he called out, firing his pistol at the thing, hitting its shoulder and watching it recoil. "Yeah, you better run! Sweatshirt wearin' wuss!"

Around that time, Louis shouted "reloading" and was tackled to the aluminum roof by an infected that had slashed at his shirt, tearing it a little. Louis rolled over on top of the infected and straddled it, placing both his knees on its arms, finally taking out his pistol and firing one into the cranium to stop its advance.

"You all right back there?" Bill called out, firing his rifle.

"Good!" Louis called back, shuffling back and picking up his rifle, joining once again in the fray.

"I think that's all of 'em!" Zoey called out, smiling.

"Not all of 'em," Francis interjected. "We still got a damn Hunter out there. We got to make sure we watch our backs so the little bastard doesn't get any smart ideas."

"All right," Bill said, pointing to the ladder. "Let's go up that ladder and keep moving. Louis, take our six and make sure nothing is following us and I'll take point. Let's try to hurry for lost time, people."

The survivors made their way up the ladder to a smaller rooftop that held generators. Zoey noticed some graffiti on the corner of the rooftop that made out: "God is Dead."

"Hey, guys, check it out, the zombies killed God!" she laughed.

"No way! Are you serious?" Now we're really screwed!"

"All right, all right," Bill smiled. "Let's get down there before we get our hides skinned. Remember, we got a Tank potentially following us around, too, and we wanna keep it that way. Following, not seeing. Let's go."

They dropped down two levels of the room to end up in another home, while Bill took his sweet time making it down because of his leg. Francis took point and blasted away at some infected that were in the destroyed living room and stood with his shoulder against the wall to a door with a descending staircase.

"That old man ready to move or what?" he said, not taking his gaze off his post. "He gonna be going this slow whenever we got to head down slope?"

"I'm comin', I'm comin!" Bill grunted as he made his last drop and hobbled over to the rest of the group, who were waiting for him to head down the stairs. So, taking point, Bill kept the M16 trained against his shoulder and pressed on, aware of what dangers there could be, the Tank and the Hunter being two of the greatest.

Down the stairs led to a barricaded staircase and a destroyed kitchen. Inside the kitchen were several infected who had their arms against the walls and their heads resting, as if they were tired of the fighting too. Bill mowed them down with careful pot shots and piled into the kitchen. Unlike the previous building, this kitchen seemed to have already been raided, much to his disappointment.

He took a look outside the shattered window and noticed a backed up truck conveniently right below them. There were several infected wandering the streets, some standing, some sitting, some resting against walls, but he noticed something that made his heart stop. Across the street, in the hotel, was a red steel door. He turned to the others.

"Safe room just across the street. There are infected down there and I don't know about your ammo count, but I'm almost out. I say we jump down and move fast, and hightail it into the safe room. We use our ammo accordingly, and only when we need to. If we get overwhelmed, fire to your heart's content. Everyone okay with that plan?"

"You're the boss, Sarge," Louis smiled, reloading his M16. "Let's get the show on the road."

Bill, being the slowest, set down first and tried to watch his step as each one he took caused the truck to make noise. He waited for the others to head down as well, taking a knee and aiming at the closest infected to him, who still did not see or sense them. As Louis made his way down, the survivors began to press on, hopeful that their sneakiness would work. That was short-lived, however, as they made it to the ground, the Hunter that Francis had shot earlier was now on the windowsill of the building they had just left, wailing into the night, stirring the other infected.

"Run like hell!" Zoey shrieked, passing the men and shooting at three infected that were right in front of the safe house. She turned and covered the others as best she could, but they were all in her line of fire, and firing without hitting one of them would be very difficult. "Come on, come on!" she shouted.

Louis felt one of the infected tug on his arms. He turned and quickly shot it through the head to get it off. He turned to see Bill hobbling to the safe house and Francis laughing as he made his way as well, blasting off a shotgun shell or two as he did. Louis could hear the Hunter directly behind them, and his heart began to pound louder and louder, as if it would burst right out of his chest with worry. He willed himself to move on and made it to the safe house behind Bill and Francis. When he went to quickly shut the door, the Hunter leapt forward, claws barred, and was greeted with a steel door to the face, the monster's neck snapping and its body falling right in front of the door.

"Yeah, how you like _that_, bitch!" Louis taunted.

Francis shook his head and began to barricade the door with a steel desk. Bill took the time to look at the walls and read the graffiti some passing survivors had written.

"_They don't eat. They don't sleep. What keeps them going?"_

Bill wondered that himself.

A man named Tyler wrote: _Bonnie: When you read his, head to the gas station on fifth and Platt. I have guns and food. I'm going to barricade it and wait this out. Sorry I couldn't wait. It's already too late."_

"Looks like the radios are out too," Louis said, pointing to a CEDA warning sign on the wall. "That doesn't surprise me, though. We're all screwed."

"Not if we get on that plane," Zoey interjected. "Let's stock up on some ammo and get the hell out of here."

The small storage area that lead outside of the safe house door must've belonged to the hotel, though it gave the air and atmosphere of a warehouse. There were several military personnel infected shambling around, disoriented, and were quickly dispatched by the survivors.

Heading outside, they noticed a small, closed-off area with fences on each side and a large sand pile toppled against the main fence. Zoey looked over to the other building and noticed a series of fire escape ladders leading into the building. She then looked at Bill and patted him on the shoulder. "Looks like we gotta climb back up. Sorry, Bill."

Bill just sighed and shook his head, leading the sad march to the top of the sand pile and hopped the barbed wire fence, the other survivors following.

"Boomer!" Francis shouted, aiming at the very top of the fire escape and firing, watching a cloud of blood erupt from its form. "Dead!"

"Nice shot!" Louis cheered.

Climbing up the ladder, Bill felt the fatigue hit the lower part of his body; he had no idea how much gas was left in his tank, but it couldn't have been much. When he made it to the top of the ladder, he shuffled off to the left and up the stairs (yet again) and into a smashed wall inside the hotel.

The inside of the hotel was gaudily decorated. It was done so in an attempt to appeal to those who had money, which could be true to some sense; from what Bill recalled about this particular hotel, it was constantly booked whenever he tried to get a room when he and Beatrice went on vacation. But nowadays, it looked like there was vacancy after all; he just might get a room for himself after this was all said and done.

"Jesus, it fuckin' stinks in here!" Francis said, pressing a hand to his nose. He was right; the inside of the room smelled God-awful, bodies were piled in a corner and streaks of blood led to the outside of the room and down the hall. Bill carefully pressed on, M16 ready, and pressed his shoulder against the doorway of the room. He took a deep breath, nodded to his team, and piled into the hallway, taking potshots at the random infected that were there.

Four or five of them went down before the infected in other rooms ran to the closed-off hallway.

"Fall back!" Bill shouted, pressing backward into a bloodstained elevator that housed some corpses in the corner, possible survivors who were the victims of bad timing. Bill and Louis took a knee and Francis carefully stood back; again, a shotgun isn't useful until its target is almost directly upon it. Bullets ricocheted off the walls and floors, wave after wave of infected falling over the bodies of others, slowing them down for the survivors to pick them off.

When it was over, Bill sighed a sigh of relief and looked to the others and smiled; he was thinking about reconsidering his decision as to whether or not he wanted to book a room in the hotel in the future.

"What the hell are you smilin' at?" Francis asked. "You tryin' to hit on me or something?"

"Don't you ever smile for the sake of smiling, Francis?" Zoey asked.

"I hate smiling," Francis replied.

Zoey and the others shook their heads and proceeded down the narrow hallway, stepping over the bodies of the infected to get across. There were a few infected that were still alive and attempted to grab at the survivors with the last of their strength. Louis answered them by relinquishing his 9mm and putting them down for good.

As they made their way toward the end of the hallway, the survivors heard a loud thud that came just outside the hotel, almost where they had entered.

"What the hell is that?" Louis asked. He crept into one of the rooms and stole a glance outside and noticed two Tanks roaming outside the hotel. It looked to be searching for something; Louis wondered if one of them was the Tank that killed Slater. His eyes widened, Louis slumped to the floor and put a hand to his sweaty forehead, unable to process the sight he just witnessed

"What is it, Lou?" Francis asked. "You look like you're gonna shit your pants."

"Tanks," he whispered. "Right outside."

"Tanks? As in more than one of them?" Francis asked his questions whilst walking over to the window. He pressed his shoulder against the wall and looked outside the window, sure to be careful that he was not spotted. He saw the two Tanks walking toward the ladder they had climbed up to get into the hotel. "Holy fuck, he wasn't kidding!" he shouted in a whisper. "We need to burn some rubber and get the hell out of this building!"

"Keep your voice down," Bill whispered. "Nice, easy steps, people. Let's go before they decide to look inside. And reserve your ammo; we run into a straggler here and there, we beat him to death. Don't waste your ammo on grunts."

He received three nods of acknowledgement and they all headed upstairs, careful with each step they took. Once upstairs, Bill noticed two infected slumped against walls. He relinquished his Bowie knife and looked over to Francis and Louis, who both nodded. In a swift motion, Bill ran up to the closest infected and jammed his knife into its head. Louis and Francis tackled the second one to the floor and Zoey proceeded to beat it over the head with the butt of her rifle. Three or four hits to the head was enough to put the infected down for good. Bill struggled to pull the knife out of the infected he killed, which was easily remedied when he placed his boot on its chest and pulled with all his might.

"Good job, guys," Bill whispered, putting a thumb up to show his appreciation. When it came time to receiving direction, the other three survivors were some of the best he's ever had the privilege to serve with, even better than some of the soldiers he served in Vietnam with.

He didn't waste any time in moving forward, carefully slinging his M16 to his chest and walking into the next room, careful to take slow, easy breaths. Fortunately, the room was empty: like the other rooms, this one was trashed, many pieces of paper thrown against the floor. The windows were barricaded as well. One, however, was not. Bill wondered what happened to the survivors who housed themselves in this particular room.

Climbing to the outside of the hotel, the survivors saw what appeared to be a crane and tall, ten-foot chain link fences surrounding it. Looking around his surroundings, Bill noticed that while there were a few generators the survivors could climb on to gain higher ground, there was no way to get to the roof on the building opposite to where they were.

_Unless_… Bill thought, looking to the crane and its cargo. "All right, people, I got a plan. Wait for me here."

He climbed the ladder to the crane as quickly as he could, but what he saw at the top made his heart stop. A Witch who had her hands buried in her face was facing him, looking at him with her blood red eyes. He froze on the ladder for what seemed like an eternity while the Witch slowly scuffled up and growled in anger.

"Shit. Witch," Bill said simply, receiving a backhand from the Witch that caused him to lose his balance and fall off the ladder. "W-Witch! Witch!" he shouted, the demon woman climbing down the ladder at lightning quick speed. Bill crawled for every inch he could muster before he felt the Witch tug at his pants and pulled him closer to her.

Francis led the charge back to Bill, smacking the Witch in the face with his shotgun, the Witch slowly staggering before changing her mark to Francis. Zoey was already on her knee taking aim at the Witch with her rifle while Louis was shooting concentrated bursts into the Witch's strong body. The Witch wailed into the night, running forward, bulldozing Francis to the ground, knocking the wind out of him. She toppled on top of him and brought her arm down to slash at him, but Francis just managed to block the blow and grabbed her by the wrist.

"Do somethin'!" he cried out, clenching his teeth. "This bitch is stronger than she looks!"

Bill shuffled back and pulled the Bowie Knife out, bringing it down as quickly and strongly as he could, the blade just penetrating her back, Bill taking it out just as quickly to put in another stroke. But by then the Witch had already regained her composure and was back on her initial target. Bill backed away slowly, knife in hand, until he was just at the edge of the roof.

"I don't have a shot!" Zoey shouted, taking her gaze off the scope and pulling out her handgun.

"Wait!" Bill shouted, watching the Witch grow closer and closer to him. _Come on, come on_, he pleaded with the monster. _Give me everything you got._

The Witch wailed once again and charged forward blindly, Bill jumping out of the way just as she swiped at him. He got to his feet as quickly as he could and shoved her with all his might, knocking her off the edge of the roof to the street below. She screamed as she fell, swiping at air as she did, finally cracking her head open on the asphalt below.

Bill sank to his knees and let out a sigh of relief, happy to be alive after such a close run-in with a monster like that. Instinctively, he reached for the locket that was hanging around his neck and ran his thumb and index finger around it, thinking of his wife Beatrice, who had met the fate of transforming into a Witch herself.

"Let's get this movin'!" Francis yelled, watching as Louis climbed the ladder of the crane.

Louis lowered the trailer so it was low enough for the Survivors to get across. As he made his way down the ladder, he heard howls. "Shit!" he screamed. "They're coming! Everybody move!"

Bill was the first to jump and test the sturdiness of the trailer. To his surprise, it seemed to be fastened by rope. He looked ahead and saw the jump he had to make to get to the next rooftop. Taking a deep breath, he hauled himself over the edge of the trailer, just barely making the jump, his leg screaming at him as he made his landing.

Zoey was next, then Louis. The howling of the infected became much noisier; they were almost upon them, making their way through the hotel they were just in.

"What are you waiting for, Francis?" Louis yelled. Francis, still on the other rooftop, looking ready to jump but looked unsettled.

"I can't!" Francis whimpered.

"Well, why the hell not?" Louis asked.

"You'll just laugh!"

"We don't have time for this, Francis!" Zoey shouted. "They're almost—"

"I hate heights, all right! Hate 'em!"

The Survivors all looked at one another dumbfounded. It appeared that someone as strong as Francis could still be shaken by human fears, despite the Hell they were currently living in.

The infected made their way to the roof by then, prying the wooden plank barricade off the other window as more rushed to where Francis was.

"Now or never!" Bill ordered. "Your call to make!"

Francis took a quick glance back to see how close the infected were to him. He muttered something under his breath—Bill thought he heard "Sons of bitches"—and took a majestic leap onto the trailer and then another onto the rooftop, throwing his shotgun mid-air and grabbing the ledge of the rooftop, not making the complete jump.

"I gotcha!" Louis reassured him, holding onto him for dear life. "Damn, you're heavy!"

"Zoey, the rope!" Bill ordered, watching as Zoey quickly set her sight on the tangled knot and fired once, the rope giving way and crashing to the street below. The infected stood on the other rooftop, all crowding the concrete platform, just staring at the Survivors. Some overzealous ones attempted to make the jump only to fall shrieking to the street below.

Bill lent Louis a hand and helped lug Francis onto the rooftop. Francis looked a little embarrassed as he bent and picked up his shotgun.

"All right, lady and gents, on me! Wusses bring up the rear."

"Wuss," Zoey chuckled as she passed Francis.

"Wuss," Louis cackled as well, shuffling passed him.

Francis frowned as he followed the others, taking a look at his surroundings. They were on another rooftop that was littered with bloodstains and bodies, some of which reanimated as the Survivors walked by, who were quickly dispatched. A makeshift wooden plank bridge led the Survivors to another rooftop that housed a Boomer that was trying to hide into the next building. Louis, carefully crouching until he could see the flesh of the Boomer, let out a short burst and watched as the Boomer exploded into a cloud of blood.

"Nice shot!" Zoey said, taking point and walking into the building.

They appeared to be in another apartment building, immediately seeing a refrigerator and a dining room set on their left as they made their way through the room. Some mutilated bodies were strewn about the place, including a little boy who was holding a toy fire truck. Bill took a deep breath as he walked by, careful not to look down at the boy, who was wearing his pajamas and laying next to a woman, who Bill assumed was his mother.

The others seemed to have noticed the little boy and all did their best to avoid their gaze as well. They didn't know why, but seeing the corpse of a child made the situation they were in much worse. They walked slowly into the next room, looking at a beautiful wooden desk with many papers thrown against the floor. Bill looked at the desk and frowned; he knew that Beatrice would have loved to have something like that in their home, back in Dodge.

"Hey, there's another way here," Louis said, taking point. There was another hole in the wall with another makeshift bridge that led into an office building. As Louis crouched, making his way around the corner of the room they had entered, he covered his mouth and looked away in horror. In the next room, bodies were piled on top of the other, their blood pooling under their corpses, staining the white tile beneath them.

Francis, seemingly unfazed at the sight, opened the medical box above the bodies and relinquished a bottle of pain pills, throwing them to Zoey, who dropped them.

"Nice catch," Francis snorted, pressing on. "We might need those. Keep them on ya, darlin'."

The Survivors made their way down a set of stairs that had blood smeared on the walls. As they descended further, they noticed that there was a pile of bodies at the bottom of the staircase as well, causing Louis to stir as he shuffled passed them.

"Who's the wuss now?" Francis asked, shaking his head.

When they made their way down the staircase and into another part of the office building, Bill held a fist up and walked passed Francis, crouching as he did so. "Too quiet," he said, shaking his head. "This place shouldn't be this quiet."

Zoey took a knee beside him and listened to the silence before them, shaking her head. "What do you hear?" she whispered to Bill.

"Trouble," was all that Bill said as he stood up and walked toward the first wooden door on his left. As he moved passed it, he heard stirring, stopping suddenly so as not to attract attention. His back pressed against the wall, he motioned for the others to move passed him, then placed two fingers in front of his eyes and pointed in front of him, indicating to the other Survivors to watch ahead of them.

Taking a deep breath and making sure his stock was loaded, Bill yanked the handle of the door open and opened fire at whatever was within, which were a few infected. They shrieked and fell to the floor. No sooner did the other doors in the office burst open, infected piling out of them to chase their prey.

"Let's do it!" Louis said, pumped up. He took a knee and fired at the incoming horde. He turned to see Zoey blow the head off of an infected that was too close for comfort, butting her rifle against the face of another, withdrawing her 9mm and firing at it soon after.

Francis tended to the stairs, keeping their six covered whilst laying covering fire. A Boomer appeared at the top of the staircase they just descended, vomiting all over Francis, who fired a blast at the grotesque thing's belly, the carrier exploding into a cloud of blood as he did so. Francis gagged as the putrid smell overtook his senses.

Suddenly, like clockwork, all the infected stopped attacking Bill, Zoey, and Louis and made a break for Francis—who looked up just in time to mutter, "Oh, shit!"—before being bombarded by the entire horde. Francis fired one shell that killed three carriers and was knocked to the floor, shielding his face from the many hands that were reaching for him.

Feet stomped on his chest, hands scratched to rip his flesh, and intense heat overcame him as a burst of firepower made its way through the horde, tearing them to pieces. Bodies piled on top of him, blocking his vision and weighing him down considerably. Seconds passed that lasted minutes, and Francis took low, even breaths so he wouldn't breathe the smell of rotten flesh. Another few seconds passed before a hand reached low and grabbed him firmly.

"You with me, brother?" Louis asked.

"Yeah, I'm good," Francis said weakly, accepting Louis' grip and being pulled out of the array of bodies.

"Oh, shit, man. You stink." Louis said, covering his nose. "Take off that dirty vest already."

"I love vests," Francis said to nobody in particular. He ruffled through the pile of bodies and found his shotgun, loaded two shells into the chamber, and nodded to the others that he was ready.

A few flights of stairs later and the carriers were on the streets once again. Looking around, Zoey could see a huge wooden desk painted with blood, as well as bodies that littered the entrance. The Survivors hadn't run into much resistance since their big encounter where Francis was nearly ripped to pieces, to which they were thankful.

Several infected were staggering outside, stumbling into walls and cars as they shuffled mindlessly. Bill put a finger to his lips and scanned his surroundings. The entire area was lined with chain link fences, likely put up by the military in a last ditch effort to hold the infection at bay for the area. Unfortunately, the military didn't know that the infected knew how to scale fences with the grace and agility of a cat.

"Stay low, move quietly, and for the love of God, don't shoot the cars; they have alarms. Alarms bring zombies. We clear?"

"Crystal," Louis answered.

The other Survivors did just as Bill ordered, keeping low to the ground so as to not garner any unwanted attention. As they neared a building to their far right, Zoey commented, "There's a safe house in the storage area up ahead."

Bill nodded in acknowledgment and reached the double glass doors of the storage area. Opening it, he was relieved that the glass wasn't webbed or shattered. For once, they were going to make it inside the safe house with no problem at all.

"You see the door, old man?" asked Francis, who was bringing up the rear.

"Yeah," Bill whispered, moving to the door and motioning for the others to follow him.

Zoey and Louis didn't complain, following close behind and walking into the safe house. Bill, still waiting by the door, was glaring at Francis, who was still by the double glass doors.

"Francis? What the hell are you doing? Get over here!"

Francis grinned and ran back into the street, smashing his shotgun through the window of the car closest to the storage building, causing its alarm to blare in the empty, still night. Laughing, Francis ran back inside the building just in time to hear the shrieks and the jangling of the chain link fence.

"Get in! Get in!" Francis giggled, shoving Bill inside the safe house and closing the door himself just in time to see a horde of infected fighting their way into the building, the door of the safe house pounding mere moments later.

Louis fell in pure shock, instinctively grabbing his assault rifle as he regained composure and aimed it at the still shut safe house door.

"What the hell were you thinking!" Zoey asked, shoving Francis hard against the wall. "You could've gotten us all killed, you animal!"

As Zoey kept shoving Francis, Louis and Bill seemed as though they were inclined to join her. Before they could, Francis grabbed Zoey's arm and forcefully pushed her away. "Everybody needs to relax!" he exclaimed. "Think about it: if we got a whole swarm on this side, and the other side of the building is just out that door, then what does that mean?"

The three others looked to one another and then back to Francis, nodding their heads. Francis may have alerted a good portion of the infected that were just beyond the door they were going to traverse, making it easier for them to slip by unnoticed.

"Good thinking, Francis," Louis said, breaking the silence. "We should get moving quickly so we can pass by them. Let's load up and file out."

Bill watched Louis turn and grab ammunition for his handgun and assault rifle. Bill hadn't realized just how far along Louis had come since they began traveling together, but watching him now, taking charge, ordering _him_ around, gave Bill hope that should he die, Francis and Louis would both be suitable leaders for the Survivors.

The inside of this particular safe house was adorned with cardboard boxes stacked close to the ceiling. Grabbing some ammunition for his M16, Bill turned to see some of the writing that was near the safe house door that was still being battered. There was a note written to a man named Trevor that read:

"_We're going to the airport. NO OTHER CHOICE. WE'RE SORRY." – C and L_

Bill thought about where Trevor, C, and L were at that very moment. As much as he hated to think about it, they were probably dead, and Trevor most likely did not make it back to read the message his friends had left for him. Who knows? Trevor most likely became one of the infected that Bill and the others put down, just like C and L may be some of the infected that Bill and the others will put down before they make it to the airport.

That is…_if_ they make it to the airport at all.

Speaking of the airport, Bill managed to grab a glimpse of some writing beside the message he had just read. This one had a more unsettling air to it: _"the planes are falling out of the sky"_.

Very unsettling, indeed.

"Everyone good?" Zoey asked, pressing her shoulder against the safe house door. "I think the coast is mainly clear. We should be able to get out of this area is we move fast."

"I'm ready, darlin'," Francis grinned, cocking his shotgun with its final shell and shuffling behind her. "Better now than never."

Zoey pulled up the bar of the safe house door and the others shuffled out behind her. Immediately in front of them there appeared to be a storage facility with most of the steel shutters still shut. Some infected stood facing the shutters, their faces pressed against the cold metal. Zoey signaled for the others to ignore those infected and moved forward, passing a corner that housed a burning garbage can and an abandoned car with a rundown chain link fence.

Graffiti was very visible on each building they passed, turning knots in Bill's stomach: back when he was a child, if he ever did something that would compromise the aesthetics of his neighborhood, he was reprimanded front and center, and not like children these days get reprimanded—a tap on the hand or a visit to his room for the rest of the night, no—he got reprimanded by meeting his good 'ole friends Mr. Belt and his wife Mrs. Wooden Spoon.

"What's the matter old man?" Francis asked, nudging him.

"Nothing. Thinking of punk kids."

"I hate kids," Francis said in turn, rounding the corner to see an infected that was on fire dash right in front of them, smacking into a wall and succumbing to its wounds there and then. "Shit!" he exclaimed, bracing himself as three infected rounded the corner, all on fire as well, and ran towards the Survivors, clawing at them.

Francis tripped the first one and watched the other two dispatched by Louis and Bill, who carefully stepped to their side so as to not feel the intense heat that was coming off of their flesh.

"So far, so good," Zoey said, noticing that there wasn't much resistance from the infected. "Maybe they're still on the other side of the safe house thinking we're still inside. Dumb bastards."

"Don't jinx us now, Zoey," Louis said, taking point, raising his M16. "We don't know anything. There could be another army just beyond this wall, and who knows, maybe they're waiting for us to proceed further so they can cover our flank. These things don't look all that dumb. The special infected prove that to be true to a point."

"Wow…how articulate," Zoey said sarcastically, nudging Louis from behind, the latter turning and smiling back. "Nothing sexier than a smart guy."

"Stop it," Louis blushed, still knowing Zoey was being sarcastic.

Bill pressed on, taking a look at his surroundings. It seemed like the Survivors were in a construction site, one of which was supposed to be a big job.

The infected made sure to put a stop to that.

"We should be able to get around the scaffolding and see if there's a way out," Bill said, pressed his M16 against his shoulder and scanning his sights.

Louis rushed forward and climbed a scaffolding ladder to the top of its wooden platform. There was a small bridge that connected to the incomplete foundation that showed a better view of where the Survivors currently were. "Looks like a big barricade up here," Louis said, pointing forward. "Lots of wood there with a gas canister in front of it. Want me to shoot it, get the wood to start burning?"

"You nuts?" Bill asked. "That'll take hours for all that wood to burn. Come back down and we'll start prying it apart."

Louis did as he was ordered, taking point towards the wooden wall. He fired at a few infected that were lingering by the walls, splattering the bricks with their blood and fluids. When he got to the wooden barricade, he pushed aside the gasoline tank and slung his M16 around his shoulder, grabbing the first piece of wood and throwing it to the side, Bill and Francis following suit. Zoey covered their six while they did so.

It was awfully still where they currently were, something that turned Zoey's stomach many times over. It was one thing knowing you were facing an entire army of the infected that were directly in front of you rather than playing a game of cat and mouse with them.

She'd take the army over uncertainty any day.

"I hate carrying things," Francis said, breaking the stillness. "I mean, you just bring it from one end to the other, right? I hate that. Too much back and forth."

A sweating Louis told Francis to "shut up" and continued to move the wood. Suddenly, a screech filled the air. The Survivors stopped in their tracks for a second, perking their ears to the sound of the incoming attack. A thin, lanky figure jumped on top of Louis, knocking him to the ground. Another, on the rooftop opposite where they were, shot a tentacle that grabbed Bill around the waist, knocking him to the ground, the man gasping for breath immediately after. Before Francis could turn to grab his shotgun, a horde pressed towards them, dragging Bill toward the center of it all.

"Francis!" Louis cried out, catching a claw to the side of his face, a gash across his cheek that bled far more than it should have. "A little help!"

Francis, in quick motion, grabbed the hair of the Hunter as it was still attacking Louis, held up his head, and fired a round in its face, its head completely disappearing into a cloud of blood, staining Louis' face, causing him to wretch.

"Bill!" Zoey cried, dropping her Hunting Rifle and jumping forward, falling on top of the tentacle that was holding Bill. She slid under him and wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling as hard as she could to keep him from being dragged.

She looked forward and saw that the horde was almost upon them. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth, but instead of being maimed to death, an explosion rocked the area, many shrieks were heard, as well as many screams and cursing. Zoey opened her eyes to see a wall of flame mere feet away from her, infected bursting into flames and running everywhere, like candles that danced in the night.

What she hadn't realized as she closed her eyes was Francis lobbing the gasoline tank passed her, and Louis shooting it once it was on the ground.

"Help me!" Zoey shouted in terror, watching as Bill was closing and opening his eyes rapidly. He was being pulled in two separate directions, and it occurred to Zoey that the pain he was in must have been excruciating.

Francis ran behind her and pulled as well, while Louis grabbed Zoey's Hunting Rifle and aimed towards the roof, found his mark, and pulled the trigger, watching the Smoker's head disappear in a cloud of smoke, its lengthy tongue going limp and letting its grip loose from Bill.

Bill, coughing from the pain, tossed and turned for a while before being helped to his feet. His organs felt like they were jumbled within his body. He hung his arm around Francis' shoulder as they made their way back to the barricade, Zoey continuing to cover their six while Louis frantically ripping the pieces of wood apart.

Zoey took potshots at the carriers that stood on the other side of the wall of flame, knowing full well that it wasn't going to stay aflame forever. "Hurry up, Louis!" she shouted.

"I'd like to see you do this shit!" Louis shouted back, ripping one of the last pieces down.

Bill shook his head and looked forward. Although his vision was waning, it was just as quickly coming back into focus. "Francis, you can let me go now," Bill said, "I can walk on my own."

"Suit yourself, old man," Francis said, delicately taking Bill's arm off his shoulder and giving him back his M16. "Now move!"

Francis ran first down the string of alleyways, blasting his shotgun at any infected that dared to confront him. He didn't know how long the wall of flame would last, but he hoped it was enough for the Survivors to get clear of the area before they gave chase, giving them a chance to avoid them.

Bill, limping lightly, brought the rear along with Zoey, picking off the infected that Francis hadn't blown away. As they turned the corner, the alleyway opened up into another street that housed an abandoned police squad car with its siren lights still flashing. Francis cautiously walked over to the squad car and pulled the door handle, realizing it was open. When he opened the door, he jumped in, rummaging through the glove box and middle console. When he stepped out, he relinquished a box of shotgun shells and a 9mm handgun, which he slipped into the side of his pants.

"Lucky haul," Louis said, nodding his head. "We can use the extra handguns."

"I hate sharing," Francis said, pressing on.

Ahead of the Survivors was an Electrical Facility surrounding by chain link fences. Fortunately, some of these were knocked down, making it easy for the Survivors to trek through.

"Don't hold your weapons above your heads," Bill said, "unless you want to be cooked alive. We have to assume that the electricity in this place is still operational. Don't want yourself to be a conduit for it."

"How the hell do you know all that?" Louis asked.

Bill shrugged. "Did some electrical work back in my day."

Nobody questioned him as they pressed on, meeting little resistance as they did. The Electrical Facility led them to an open warehouse with a crane and many boxes strewn all over the place. Francis took point, shotgun at the ready. However, the warehouse was oddly empty. The Survivors heard some shuffling and movements, but it could very well have been the building itself.

Walking to the locker room, they noticed a trail of blood leading to the bathroom. Knowing better than to tread that line, they pressed on when they realized that a section of concrete wall ahead of them was missing, leading them back to the streets once again.

The first thing Bill noticed were several cars that were on fire, as well as a large 747 in the front of the building they were currently in. And then, in broken letters: Metro International Airport.

"We made it!" Zoey exclaimed in excitement.

"Sure did," Louis replied with a smile. "Let's get moving and find a way in."

As they pressed on, Zoey noticed the plane that was grounded. "I hope this isn't the plane we saw earlier."

Bill hoped that himself.

A section of the street was missing, possibly due to the plane making a crash landing. Bill was surprised the thing wasn't in more pieces than it was, as well as devoid of flames. He shrugged at the thought; it just made traversing for them all the easier.

Several infected were hanging around the wreckage of the plane, some on the wing, some in the hole that was in the middle of the street. Bill wondered if those were the passengers of the plane that succumbed to the virus and were still able to survive the crash.

On the other side of the street, the Survivors noticed mounds of suitcases that were scattered throughout the sidewalk, as well as abandoned taxis and cars, all of which seemed to have been deserted in a heartbeat.

"Jesus, they left in a hurry," Francis said, shrugging.

"They're the smart ones," returned Zoey.

Walking down the street they noticed more cars on fire, as well as more luggages that were left behind. Next to a squad car was a large pool of blood, possibly belonging to the officers who tried to keep the area in check before they themselves were overwhelmed.

A growl caused the Survivors to pause.

"You hear t—"

Louis didn't finish his sentence as a large piece of concrete smashed into a car beside him, the car denting and flipping over.

"Tank!" Zoey shouted, aiming her sights at the behemoth's small head. Both shots missed the head and found their home in its shoulder and neck, the ravenous beast rushing forward to the Survivors.

"Covering fire!" Bill shouted, taking a knee and shooting concentrated bursts at the Tank's upper body. The beast let out cries of pain, but it wasn't enough to slow it down. It ran over to Francis, who unloaded with his shotgun until it went dry. The massive behemoth raised its meaty hand and swiped at Francis, smacking him across the body, causing the biker to go flying several feet before smashing onto the concrete pavement.

The others kept concentrating fire on the Tank, trying all they could to get its attention off of Francis. It worked, as it started to make its way to Louis, who was taking his own pot shots at the beast's midsection.

"I'm almost out!" he shouted, slamming another clip home just in time to dodge a strike from the Tank. He hurtled on his shoulder and snapped back, firing bursts into the behemoth's upper body.

The Tank advanced further, knocking Louis into doing a spin, his automatic fire finding the squad car that was next to Bill, Bill ducking to avoid the friendly fire. The bullets from the M16 ripped into the squad car's hood, causing it to smoke heavily.

Francis regained his composure then, running directly behind the Tank with his loaded shotgun and fired directly at the Tank's spine, the behemoth crying in pain before finally succumbing to the ground.

"Sweet!" Francis shouted in joy, kicked the Tank once, and reloaded his shotgun.

Bill was still on the floor, breathing heavily, still in disbelief that his end almost came due to friendly fire and not by a carrier's hand. Zoey, Francis, and Louis regrouped, walking across the gap in the street and then noticed a parking garage in front of them.

Their victory was short-lived, however, as howling filled the air. Bill made his way to his feet just in time to see a horde coming directly his way. By then, the squad car that was billowing black smoke started to catch fire under the hood. However, the infected were coming from all directions, making it impossible for Bill to reach the others. He aimed forward, shooting straight at the horde coming right at him, ignoring the other that was trying to work his flank. He saw many bodies fall before his stock ran empty.

"There it is!" Louis shouted, his voice piercing through Bill's ears. "Safe house just up the ramp way. There's a painting here with an arrow! We're almost there, guys! Just need to push forward! Come on!"

Bill breathed deeply, slamming another magazine home and stumbling to his right, firing at the incoming horde in that direction. His reflexes were slowed down due to his encounter with the Smoker in the construction site; he could hear his breath resonating throughout his body. He could see the others fighting in the distance as he slowly made his way to them.

The echoes of gunfire pounded in Bill's chest, causing him to lose his balance for a moment as he moved forward; old age was really starting to hit him badly, especially now that this epidemic had started. The phrase "I'm getting too old for this shit" certainly applied to him, and it was right there and then that he grinned while being painted in carriers' blood at the thought of doing this in his late 50's. What would his son think of his old man now?

"Bill! The car! The car's gonna blow! Get out of there!"

But before Bill could register what Zoey was shouting, he felt a loud explosion behind him and he was sent hurling through the air, landing on his shoulder as he came down, the wind getting knocked out of him.

_No, don't black out,_ he told himself, sensing his vision was starting to wane. _Whatever you do, just don't black out, you son of a bitch._

But Bill couldn't help the darkness that took over his body. The last thing he saw before he succumbed to the darkness was a carrier standing over him, poised to attack, before its head was blown off by one of the other Survivors.

_{Break}_

_I secretly welcomed the darkness. Having it envelop me meant that I did not have to face my demons in reality, the reality of having lost my wife and not knowing where my son was. My mind and my soul was at peace. I was brought to a happier time, to Thanksgiving dinners and Christmas mornings, to my son's graduation and how proud I was to be his father at that moment, to the first time Beatrice told me she was going to wait for me to come back from war. I wished it was always like this: tranquil, resolute, clear. But, like most nights, dreams had to end. The darkness I welcomed was dissected by the light, bringing me back to my demons. I wondered then…when will darkness come claim me for the last time?_

_- Sergeant William Overbeck, United States Army (Ret.)_

_{Break}_

A/N: PHEEEEWWWW! It's been a long time, my faithful readers! A combination of school and a severe case of writer's block has kept me from you for a long time, and it is my hope that this chapter breaks me out of my funk. Thanks to all who urged me to continue writing by sending me PM's and reviewing the story; it really made the process much easier for me. Again, sorry if this chapter seemed a little different than the previous ones; I pray that the others that follow will be just as decent as the ones that were written previously. Until then, keep reading!


	12. Dead Air: The Terminal, Runway Finale

XII

Dead Air: The Terminal, Runway Finale

Bill opened his eyes and turned his head, feeling the coolness of his pillow, his body sinking into his bed sheets as he turned and shifted his body. He rolled to the edge of the bed, slowly placing his feet on the carpet, feeling the soft plush between his toes. He sighed deeply and rubbed his eyes.

On the other side of the room sitting by a window in a rocking chair, a woman hummed a tune to her son, rocking the chair slowly. "Baby, mine, don't you cry. Baby, mine, dry your eyes. Rest your head, close to my heart, never to part, baby, you're mine."

Bill walked towards Beatrice and lightly kissed her shoulder, parting her hair and kissing her softly on her forehead. She smelled like lilacs; it was the smell from a perfume Bill had bought her as a present when their son was born. She said she was going to wear it on special occasions, this one being the first night their son was brought home.

"Isn't he beautiful?" she whispered, gesturing at the small child fast asleep in her arms.

Bill took a look at him then, his small fingers laced around Beatrice's index finger. The boy cooed and crinkled his nose, letting out a sigh, opening his mouth and then nestling back into his mother's embrace.

"He's perfect," Bill answered. "My little soldier."

Bill walked back over to the bed, grabbing his cigarettes from the nightstand. As he placed one in his mouth, Beatrice craned her head and shook it.

"Sorry. I forgot. Not around the baby."

"I swear, William, you're going to quit those things if it's the last thing I do."

Bill grinned and shook his head, placing the cigarette back in the pack and back onto the nightstand. When he turned to face Beatrice, she and their son was gone, the rocking chair rocking hauntingly slow.

Suddenly, a piercing nose echoed within Bill's mind. He screamed aloud, dropping to his knees, his hands tearing at his hair to make the noise go away. A shooting pain hit his shoulder, his body jerking slightly.

Beatrice appeared then, kneeling beside him, concern written on her face.

"What's wrong, Bill?" she asked, tears running down her face.

Bill shut his eyes. "N-nothing. It's nothing." He reopened them.

What he saw then was not his wife: it was the abomination he killed before he traversed into the sewers in Fairfield. He recoiled at the sight, shuffling backward, the pain in his shoulder and head unbearable.

"It's me, isn't it? You're disgusted by me, aren't you? Just say it! You don't love me, do you?"

Beatrice shrieked and jumped forward, lunging at him with her claws. He dodged her attack, tumbling onto the bed and off the other end.

Beatrice grunted and repeatedly shouted his name.

"Bill! Bill! Bill!"

_{Break}_

"Bill! Bill! Hey! Wake up! Snap out of it, man!"

Bill recognized that voice; it was Louis. When he opened his eyes, the pain in his shoulder and head remained, but he was no longer in his home: he was currently in a small room with ammunition sprawled out along the table, as well as plywood drilled into the concrete face of the wall leading to the building they had entered, presumably put there to keep the Infected at bay.

Bill heard shots being fired, craning his head slightly to see Zoey on the second tier of the room, shooting at the Infected on the other side. The room gave her a perfect vantage point to thin out the number of Infected she could see and not have to worry about her ammunition.

"Hey, how ya feelin'?" Louis asked, lightly patting Bill's cheek.

Bill felt like hell; he didn't remember blacking out or how they had gotten there. Before he had a chance to ask, Francis filled them in.

"Car blew up on ya. That's why I ride bikes; I hate cars, hate everythin' about them. Now that I mention it, I hate steering wheels, too, and…uh…wait, what were we talking about?"

Louis shook his head. "We carried you through the parking garage. Wasn't very easy; you're not as light as you look. Figured we'd sit a spell to catch our breath and see if you came around before we set out again."

"How long have I been out?" Bill asked.

"About twenty minutes," Louis answered.

Bill's eyes widened and he sat up quickly, the pain in his body unbearable. "The plane! What about the plane?"

"Didn't take off yet. Pilot may be dead, may be refueling, may be doing a bunch of shit we don't know about planes. But we don't have time to sit around and waste time. Are you good to walk on your own?"

Bill tried it, getting up slowly, receiving help from Louis as he did. He found that his upper body was hurting him but his legs weren't giving him too much of a problem. He took a few steps around the small room they were in to make sure he was all right to walk and nodded to Louis.

"Then let's get going," Zoey said, climbing down the ladder. "I killed as many as I could see outside the safe house door. Also took a walk outside to take out the ones that were lingering a floor below us, too. Strange, though. None ran up here. Makes me wonder if this place is empty."

"Yeah, and Francis here is really an Evangelical Pastor," Louis joked.

"All right, all right," Francis said, lifting the bar of the safe house. "Let's get going, shall we, ladies?"

Bill took point as he always did, Zoey right up there with him to give him support should he need it. They crept through the empty and hollow office, carefully plotting their steps so as not to stir the Infected that may be hiding. Luckily, the office section of the building wasn't that spacious or lengthy; they were out and down the escalator within a few minutes. Freshly killed bodies were slumped along the escalator, some hanging over the side, others limply sprawled along the steps.

"Nice handiwork," Francis said, nudging Zoey.

Bill looked over his shoulder at the girl. She just grinned and shrugged her shoulders at the scene. It was a sad world that someone that young could be accustomed to causing such carnage, even though it meant their survival.

Bill froze mid step, holding his fist shoulder high to alert the others. "Go silent," Bill said, carefully stepping down the escalator steps his breath shallow. He couldn't take a step without stepping on a corpse, some wearing traffic vests, presumable those who were working at the airport at the time of the outbreak.

A thunderous step echoed in the main hall. Bill and the others crouched low and saw a glimpse of something massive in the distance.

"Tank," Louis breathed nervously.

Another one followed suit.

"Think they're the same ones that were following us around earlier?" Zoey asked.

Bill nodded. "I'm hopin'. Don't want to think about more than one pair running around out there…or more. Can't imagine having to fight three of those fuckers at one time. I'm pretty confident I can take two by myself, but three…?"

"You, old man? You'd have no problem," Louis grinned. "Worse comes to worse you can always jab that knife of yours into its head."

"There's always that," Bill jokingly said. "Smart ass."

"Am I the only one who thinks you're outta your fucking minds for joking right now?" Francis asked. "I hate joking at inappropriate times."

"What's an inappropriate time to you besides this one, Francis?" Zoey asked.

"Talkin' about vests," Francis said proudly. "Gotta pay attention to a man who appreciates his vest."

Bill, Louis, and Zoey all shook their heads and pressed forward.

"What?" Francis whispered, following suit. "I love vests."

Moving forward into a vast opening, there was no opposition: the Tanks had vanished into a different section of the airport no doubt, but there were plenty of freshly dispatched Infected littered about the place.

"Geez, kid, leave some for us, won't you?" Bill jokingly said.

Zoey froze. "That wasn't me," she said coldly.

"Maybe the guys from the plane had to grab some supplies?"

Bill had hoped Louis was right. Even though the Infected were the common enemy, that didn't mean that those living weren't capable of committing atrocities as well.

"Whatever did this, human or not, I don't want to be here if they decide to come back." Bill shuddered, leading the team into a baggage docking area.

"I always wanted to know where the bags went," Louis said curiously.

Zoey shook her head. "Yeah. Real interesting."

Much like the room before, this one was littered with freshly killed corpses. Bill's mind was boggled; he kneeled down and inspected a corpse. The bullet wounds were from a 9mm handgun. Each shot counted; two in the chest, one in the head, a Special Forces method. Some other corpses had 7.62x54mmR slug wounds, presumably from a sniper rifle. Bill saw the cartridges on the ground. Whoever this person—or people—are, they know how to wield a firearm.

"We're dealing with Spec Ops here. Not sure if they're part of the military or a rag tag group of people. What I _do_ know is that they're dangerous. Eyes and ears, people."

The Survivors navigated through the baggage collection area and walked out to the other side to another section of the airport with metal detectors. In this massive room, beyond the metal detectors and reception desks was a wall that was spray painted in large, bold letters: "No Zombie is safe from Chicago Ted."

Bill pressed his finger along the graffiti and rubbed hard. His finger came back black. "Fresh. Within an hour, I'd bet."

"What are ya, some paint specialist now? That what you did before all this, old man?" Francis grinned. "I took ya for the greetin' type of old man in the grocery store."

"Shut up and keep moving; safe room up ahead."

"Dunno who this Ted guy is, but I hate Chicago. Dangerous place."

Walking into the safe house, Bill noticed a roll of crackers and a bottle of water on the table with the ammunition. Someone was there recently, as the room looked raided and disheveled. They all quickly took their own share of water and crackers, wolfing the food and drink down. They made sure they were all loaded, even though they hadn't fired at all, to which they were surprised. Beyond that safe house door led to the airfield where there was a stillness in the air, a sense of unease settling upon them all.

Bill decided to change the mood.

"All right, people, grab whatever ammo you can carry and follow me to the plane. And since we haven't spoken about it, I'm calling a window seat now."

"I hate aisle seats," Francis sighed, looking upset. "No fair you get to call dibs because you're old."

They all grinned amongst themselves. They were finally going to be rescued; no more running, no more scrounging for food, no more killing…they were finally going to get the safety and peace they fought so hard to achieve.

"Let's move it, people, it's not or never."

Bill raised the bar of the Safe House up and opened the door. Ahead of him was a collapsed ledge, and as he made his way further, he looked up and saw something that made his heart stop.

A plane. And it was heading right for them.

"Get down!" Bill ordered, grabbing Zoey and pulling her to the floor, falling on top of her to shield her from any possible debris. The plane smashed into the ground with a loud _crack_ and exploded on contact, dragging across the runway as it finished its descent. Pieces of the plane flew and tore apart, some pieces of debris banging onto the ledge the Survivors were on, the smoke still coming off the shredded pieces of metal.

Louis pushed himself up, picked up his assault rifle, and looked ahead to the airplane graveyard before them. "Holy shit…" he breathed softly, looking to the carnage before him. "We better expect company _real_ _soon_; that explosion just woke up the entire zip code. Let's move!"

Louis, Zoey, and Francis took point, jumping from the ledge with ease, finally settling down on top of a large pile of debris. Bill brought up the rear, taking his sweet time coming down to join with the others. His whole body still ached from the car explosion back on the street, and his limbs still felt rubbery and swollen from when he smacked into the asphalt, making his progression that much harder.

_Adrenaline helps a whole lot, though_, he thought to himself, making that last drop and being helped to his feet by Louis.

"Your chariot is waiting, sir," Louis joked, grinning.

They pressed on through the airplane graveyard, passing by smoldering fires and piles of corpses that were burned. The air smelled like burnt flesh, not an ideal smell for those who thought they were about to be rescued. Bill just shook his head at the thought, knowing full well that such lengths had to be taken in order to kill this virus. Unfortunately, not everyone was immune to the virus like they were. Just like the Church Guy they encountered. Just like Beatrice.

Bill thought about the dream he had had about Beatrice when he was unconscious. He felt his stomach tighten at the thought that he was her executioner, and the locket around his neck suddenly felt like it weighed as much as a concrete bag. He fumbled to grab it to make sure it was still there, and when he felt the cool silver upon his hand, his heart steadied itself, which made walking forward bearable.

Bill looked up and noticed a poster ad that read: _Need to get away? Allegheny National Forest._ "Wouldn't be caught dead in those woods," Bill said.

"I hate the woods!" Francis shouted, reading the same advertisement.

"Didn't know you could read, Francis," Louis joked, chuckling.

The C-130 they were looking for was perfectly parked facing the runway, making its getaway much easier to deal with if they got to that point.

Several infected loitered around the plane and the surrounding area. As if they smelled the Survivors coming, they howled and ran forward, all of them greeted with gunshots to the upper chest and head.

Francis' ears perked at the sound of a crackling radio. He followed the noise to a pump generator with a man slumped against it, a bite wound on his neck and his entrails seeping at the side of his body, his cold, lifeless hand clutching onto the radio that was booming with life.

"Terry, are you there?" the disgruntled voice asked. "Terry, can you hear me?"

Bill pried Terry's cold, dead fingers and answered. "Terry's dead, son. Can you get this plane in the air?"

The voice paused on the other end. "Yeah," it finally said. "Guess that SEAL took off and left Terry to die." Another pause. "We need to get her gassed up before we go. But be careful when you start the pump…it'll make a real racket. Get ready to have a fight on your hands."

"Well, it's never easy," Zoey said, checking the magazine in her Hunting Rifle.

"Everyone ready?" Bill asked. He received three nods. When he flipped the fuel switch, he heard a loud hiss, and the pilot's voice boomed into the radio. "That did it!" he shouted excitedly. "Terry, you son of a bitch, that did it! Hold them off while the plane gets fueled up!"

Howling filled the air. Francis shuffled uneasily, craning his neck left and right to assess the situation as best he could. The only noise coming within the vicinity of the Survivors was the loud hum of the fuel pump. Bill could hear his heartbeat through his eardrums, his fingertips flirting with the trigger of his M16. He steadied his breathing, looked out before him, and fired a short burst into the chest of the first carrier that climbed onto the pile of debris before them.

"Fire at will!" Bill ordered, firing at the incoming horde. "Zoey, find a vantage point!"

"Already on it!" Zoey shouted back, retreating and climbing the fuel pump generator and taking a knee. She aimed her sights on a Hunter who craftily thought it was going to flank the Survivors. She fired once, watching the projectile smack into the Hunter's right temple, the monster whelping as it crumpled to the ground. "Hunter down!"

"Shit!" Francis yelled. When Bill turned his gaze, he saw a carrier had grabbed Francis from behind. Francis struggled before smacking the carrier with the butt of his shotgun. When the carrier fell to the ground, Francis stepped on its chest, whipped out his 9mm, and fired once. Francis winced in pain; blood was seeping out of his neck.

"You bit?" Bill yelled over the gunfire. "Francis, are you all right?"

Francis looked to be in a daze; he was staring ahead of him with one hand placed firmly on his neck. Bill had never seen Francis show this kind of unsettlement before, and witnessing it firsthand scared Bill to death. If Francis could be frazzled, how easily could the others become frazzled? "Snap out of it, Francis! We have work to do!"

Francis shook himself out of his daze just in time to dodge the bile that was shot in his direction by a Boomer. He countered the bile with a shotgun blast into the thing's gut, watching it explode in a cloud of blood.

"Nice shot!" Louis shouted, smacking his rifle butt at a carrier that was too close for comfort, firing at the one behind it before finally redirecting his attention to the one he rifle-butted before. "They're flanking us!"

Bill spun and saw that Louis was right; there were carriers coming from battered chain link fences behind them. He fired until his stock ran empty, reloaded, and ran in the other direction.

"Bill, what are you doing?" Zoey exclaimed, blowing the head off another carrier in the distance.

"More than halfway there, guys!" the pilot exclaimed. "Just hold them off a bit longer!"

"I'll cover our flank! You guys hold them—"

Before Bill could finish his sentence, he was sent to the ground, the breath escaping his body. He let out a breathless breath, gasping desperately for air. He was being dragged; a pink, elongated tentacle was wrapped around his waist, pulling him away from his rifle. He flailed about, trying everything to pull and tear at the tentacle to no avail. The tentacle was wrapped in such a way that he had no access to his .45.

Then he remembered his knife.

He still could not yell for help, and the others were too preoccupied defending themselves and the C-130 to notice much of anything. The gunfire would have drowned his voice out if he decided to yell, so he was out of luck either way.

Bill tried to get a firm grasp of his assailant's tentacle, and when he did, he struck down with the Bowie Knife as hard as he could and dragged it to the right, slicing the tentacle off. He could see the Smoker in pain in the distance, and Bill took this opportunity to drag himself to his assault rifle just in time to fire at some of the incoming horde, aiming at the Smoker last, watching it explode into a cloud of smoke.

Bill's stock came up empty, and the horde was getting closer. Bill tried to pry the tentacle off to no avail; he simply sat there with his knife ready to take on whatever he could before pink mist escaped through the chests of the horde. Bill saw Louis run over to him.

"I'm sorry, man. I'm so sorry I didn't come to help sooner."

Louis helped Bill unfasten the tentacle around his waist and helped him to his feet. Bill gave him an encouraging nod and a pat on the shoulder before moving further and firing at the incoming horde, Louis joining in the fray.

"Grabbing some ammo!" Bill heard Francis yell. "Everyone, grab some ammo! I found a whole stash here!"

Bill and Louis finished the remainder of their magazines, reloaded, and ran to the pile of ammunition Francis uncovered. They stocked up while Francis and Zoey lay covering fire for them, the duo scrounging what they could carry on their hip packs, carrying additional ammunition for Zoey, who was too involved in keeping them alive.

The radio came to life. "We're all filled up! Release the pump!" Francis and Louis worked diligently and released the pump from the C-130. Moments later, as they saw the propellers of the C-130 begin to turn until they became a white blur, they saw a hulking giant climb on top of the debris.

Another followed it soon after.

It was the two Tanks that have been chasing them since they arrived in the hotel and the airport. It looks as if they finally caught up to them. Bill put a cigarette to his lips and lit it. He took a deep pull and exhaled the smoke from his lungs, knowing full well they were about to be in for a bumpy ride.

Louis' eyes widened. "Oh, shit!" He picked up the radio and pressed the receiver. "Open the _fucking_ cargo doors! We can't hold them off any longer!"

The radio was silent in Louis' hand. Finally, the pilot said, "I'm sorry, but its either you or me, and me sounds like a real winner right now. Good luck, and thanks for the gas."

The C-130 started moving along the runway. Louis smashed the radio on the ground, the device shattering into many pieces. He raised his M16 and aimed at the C-130. As he was about to pull the trigger, Bill grabbed Louis' hand forcefully and jerked it away from the rifle. "Don't! We're going to need the bullets! Everyone, on me! Make for the fence!"

The four Survivors abandoned their posts and made a break for the chain link fences in the distance, the horde following suit. On the fly, Bill removed his pipe bomb from his waist pack, lit the fuse with his cigarette, and threw it as far as he could.

"Keep moving!" Bill shouted. The device beeped loudly, causing the infected to follow the sound of the noise. Infected toppled on top of one another in order to grab at the device, all of which were blown sky-high when the device went off, a cloud of blood permeating in the air.

When they made it to the fence, Bill lit the rag of a Molotov on fire and threw it just around his feet, taking extra precaution to make sure they weren't followed.

"Fucking asshole…" Louis, still aggravated, said before walking forward.

"I wouldn't worry too much about it," Bill said. He watched through the flames at the C-130. He saw the two Tanks grab large pieces of debris and hurled it at the plane as it ascended, causing the C-130 to lose altitude and smash into the ground, exploding on contact. He pressed on, shuffling passed Louis and into the dark woods ahead. "We're the lucky ones."

_{Break}_

_Humanity is an ugly thing, a disgusting, ugly thing. I've often wondered if this virus came about to punish us in some way. Before this all happened, people were generally in for themselves, caring only for themselves, looking out only for themselves. I thought having something like this happen would bring the remaining surviving population closer together, trying everything in our power to preserve human life. I was wrong. I was dead wrong. Now, looking ahead in these desolate woods around a campfire where I am currently writing these words, I realize that the fighting will never stop, not as long as we draw breath. It will be an endless cycle of carnage, hate, and anger. It will be a Blood Harvest. _

— _Sergeant William Overbeck, United States Army (Ret.)_

_{Break}_

A/N: Here's another update for you, guys! I wanted to incorporate Chicago Ted in some way, shape, or form to this story, and I thought this was a perfect opportunity to do such a thing. The idea behind the airport being devoid of "living" Infected was an homage to all those who are still fighting the Infected. Realistically, our four heroes aren't the only ones out there putting an end(or surviving) the Infection.

Also, for those of you who read this chapter, please be sure to review; it makes me feel good as the author knowing that you guys have some sort of input on the story, be it positive or negative. Nothing is more annoying to an author who sees email updates of users favoriting a story or keeping tabs on a story without leaving some sort of feedback.

Aside from that rant (phew!), thank you guys for the constant support and patience. Be well.


	13. BloodHarvest:Farmhouse Finale, Millhaven

Author's Note: Been a while, loyal fans! The following chapter jumped to the end of Blood Harvest. You may be thinking, "What? Why?" Truth be told, I had an idea of where I wanted to go with the chapter, like Zoey getting taken from the woods by crazed survivors and meeting up with Chicago Ted, but as I was writing it, many inconsistencies and unrealistic things were occurring. I thought my best bet was to get to the end of the Blood Harvest campaign so you guys are thrust into the action right from the get-go Also, the following scenario in Millhaven takes place in The Sacrifice comic that can be found on L4D's wiki, so in case you're confused as to what is happening, I suggest reading it; it's awesome!

Enjoy the reading and be sure to read and review! We are almost at the end of our long adventure together! I hope you'll continue to stick with me 'til the end.

XIII

Farmhouse Finale & Millhaven

"Don't ask me how I knew," Francis shouted, blowing the head off an infected as it shambled into the bedroom the Survivors were in, "but I knew it'd all end in a damn barn house! I hate barn houses, Bill!"

"Yeah, yeah," the old man retorted, smacking the butt of his M16 against the skull of an infected and finishing it off once it fell. The room was proceeding to get filled in every nook and cranny; the infected coming in were stumbling over the piles of bodies the Survivors left of those who unsuccessfully tried before them.

With the other Survivors busy fending for themselves, Bill managed to escape from the room and started descending the stairs, blowing away any infected who dared tried to ascend. He could hear the others in the room behind him.

"We don't even know if they're here; the radio's downstairs!" Louis shouted, getting smacked by an infected and losing his footing before following through on his attack and killing it.

From outside the house, you could hear the loud shrieks of the infected and a _crunching_ noise, followed by a loud horn. Zoey peeked her head out the window and noticed an APC on the side of the house with a dozen infected under its wheels. "Army's here, guys!" she shouted as she jumped out the window and onto the side of the house. "Let's get moving!"

"I'm coming, I'm coming," Francis said from the floor as an infected pinned his face down. "C'mere, ugly," he said, firing his 9mm into the face of said carrier. "I _love_ the god damn Army!"

Bill, lost in his own world, tuned out everything in his environment; the only sounds that existed were the _cling_ of the rounds in his M16 discharging and the sound of his calm, relaxed breathing. He barely felt the heavy hand that fell upon his shoulder.

"Bill, rescue's here," Zoey said softly.

"I heard you the first time, kid," Bill replied. "I just wasn't finished yet."

Looking at the pile of bodies Bill left behind, Zoey could see what he meant. She noticed the change in Bill ever since they were denied their escape from the airport. Between navigating the woods and the creepy town, there was something about Bill Overbeck that was simply _off_. He grew to be more impatient, violent towards the Infected, and secluded himself from the group on more than one occasion. It wasn't until they had reached the barn that Bill was finally starting to communicate with the others. But then again, that was what survival with others was all about?

Communication.

"I leave you ladies alone for five minutes and you forget how to run to a god damn rescue vehicle?" Bill sighed. "Zoey, you take point, and Louis—"

The wall beside Bill erupted, plaster and sheetrock scattering about the place. The roar of a Tank broke his concentration as he ordered the others to escape out the window. He quickly pulled out a Molotov cocktail and lit the rag as the Tank reared itself to face him.

"I must've killed about fifty of you sons of bitches by now, and you'd think that by now one of you would have the god damn decency to go down easy!" He threw the Molotov and watched it explode in the Tank's face, watching the creature lose its balance and focus, flailing its massive arms all about the place. Bill then took that opportunity to follow the others outside the window and on the ground, mere yards away from the APC.

"Come on, Francis!" Zoey said, already in the APC, covering the others.

"Hang on!" Francis shouted, "I gotta give this zombie the finger."

From afar, on the branch of a tree, a Smoker's tongue grabbed Francis by the ankle just before he entered the APC, Louis falling and grabbing Francis' arm whilst attempting to keep himself in the APC. Bill was firing at the incoming horde as a frantic Francis was beginning to hesitate.

"I take back all the nasty crap I ever said about you, Louis!" Francis pleaded. "Just don't let me go!"

"You said nasty things about me?" Louis asked childishly, followed by Francis screaming "don't let me go!"

"I got him," Zoey said, aiming her down her sight and clipping the Smoker in the neck, the infected exploding in a cloud of smoke thereafter.

Francis stumbled into the APC just as the infected descended upon them, their hands pounding on its steel door. "Get this fucking thing movin'!" Louis shouted to the driver, who promptly began driving once again. Louis smiled. "Ha, we did it, man! We really did it! No more fat zombies, no more car-chuckin' zombies, just easy relaxation at the safe zone, baby! Whoo!"

"Calm down. I'll believe it when I see it." Francis folded his arms and set his head to rest upon the cool metal.

"What the hell kinda attitude is that, man?" Louis asked. "Francis, we're in an armored personnel carrier. Driven by the military. Being taken to the safe zone. Can I _finally_ just get you to admit everything is fine?"

"Louis, I hate to break it to you, but we've been heading to the safe zone _four_ times now." Francis held up his index finger. "Helicopter: crashed. Plane: Left us to die. Boat: sunk. Trust me…something'll go wrong and we'll all be dead."

"Rock, this is Rescue 9. We've recovered four tango mikes. Please advise." The driver's voice sounded almost robotic, with as much precision and poise as a professional chef in a kitchen; Bill knew this man wasn't a normal Army grunt.

"_**Rescue 9, bypass Echo and return to Millhaven."**_

"Hello?" Louis called out to the driver. "Hey, uh…I just want to thank you for saving our asses back there and—" Louis was cut off when the driver shut the slide panel that separated him from the Survivors.

"See?" Francis laughed. "What did I tell ya? We're frickin' doomed."

"That's a real positive attitude you have there, Francis," Louis said in anger.

"You really can't be as oblivious as this, can you?" Francis asked.

"Well, maybe I'd like to focus on the fact that we're _alive_ instead of how we're always going to die!"

"We _are_ always about to die!"

"Exactly, Francis! And we're still alive!"

"Sure. And we're _still_ all about to die. Face facts, man… We're livin' through a _zombie __apocalypse_! That's a shit sandwich no matter how you chew it. Nothin's getting better. Everything's gettin' worse, _all _the _time_. We _live_ for today and tomorrow. Just _once_ I'd like to hear you _admit_ it. Nothing's ever going to be okay ever again. You hear me? Stop being so fucking stupid."

_He__'__s __right_, Bill thought, his eyes closed, lost in thought. _Nothing __is __ever __going __to __be __okay __ever __again. __We__'__ve __lost __so __much __just __to __get __here: __our __families, __our __friends, __our __humanity, __ourselves__… __We__'__ve __lost __everything._

"_**Rescue**__**9, **__**what**__**'**__**s **__**your **__**status?**__**" **_The radio in theAPC came crackling in.

"Haven, we have four tango mikes for the Doc. This is Captain Mora. Is the Major there?"

"_**Rescue 9, negative."**_

"Haven, please advise the major that I need to debrief him directly."

"_**Rescue 9, copy that. You know he's gonna ask, what'd you see?" **_

"Haven, you won't believe it. I _saw_ it and I don't believe it."

Bill wasn't sure how long he and the others had been driving, but he had fallen asleep at some point during their ride back to Millhaven. The back of the APC opened and several military personnel with gas masks and riot gear came flooding in, all armed to the teeth with assault rifles and shotguns.

"Put your weapons on the floor of the vehicle. Now."

"Hold on, I know how this goes," Francis grinned. "You're gonna strip search us, aren't ya? Well, you might want to strip search Bill over there; he looks pretty suspicious to me. Or, if you want, you all can strip search each other, and—"

Francis' face was greeted by the butt of an M16. The biker grabbed his chin and fell to the ground, almost lifeless.

"Bring your smart ass friend," the soldier who hit Francis said. "Anybody makes a break for it, that body gets shot. Welcome to Millhaven."

As the Survivors were being ushered forward, Zoey raised her hand. "Um, hi. I'm not a smart ass. Where are we? I thought we were being taken to Echo safe zone."

"Negative, ma'am. Testing."

"Okay… And if we pass the test?"

Zoey looked to her left and saw a huge pyre that was being fed by the bodies of the infected. "You know what?" she asked, "Forget it. I think I may have an idea."

Two days have passed since then, two days of constant observations followed by a strict procedure. Francis and Louis were separated from Bill and Zoey, and Bill wasn't sure where they were or if they were even alive. Whenever Bill asks for their whereabouts, his question was ignored and he was instead forced to participate in more testing.

Bill looked at his bleak surroundings; he's seen the inside of this examination room many times over the last few days, being asked to do and recall countless things, and he was sick of it.

"Spit, please," the doctor asked Zoey, who looked at him cock-eyed. Once being approached by the accompanying soldier in the room, the doctor stepped in between. "We're fine, Rivera. Miss, please spit in the dish."

"We walked…_on __foot_…out of Philadelphia, and believe me, we saw every zombie along the way. I've been bitten. Scratched. Bled on. Puked on. I'm fine. _We__'__re_ fine. We're _immune_, doctor. We just want to get to the safe zone, okay?"

The soldier had had enough. "All right, enough," he said, cocking his shotgun. "Spit in the dish!"

"You really going to shoot me if I don't spit in the dish?"

When Zoey saw the soldier advancing with his finger on the trigger she relented. Spitting into the dish, she asked, "There. Is America safe now? Can we go to Echo base?"

"Almost," the doctor answered. "I just need to inspect one of the wounds you spoke about earlier."

"Jesus Christ," Zoey yelled in annoyance. "Are we dying or something?"

The soldier advanced. "Show him your wound."

"Yeah, no. We've just about had enough of you and doctor spit-jar there yelling at us and telling us nothing. We just want to know—"

"Show him your wound!" The soldier pressed Zoey against the wall, rifle point aimed at her heart.

Bill saw his opening. He walked behind the soldier, Rivera, and said, "Get your hands off the girl."

"Back off, old man. You're not going to be the hero today."

"No," Bill said, shaking his head. "Just the distraction."

Zoey, in quick motion, flipped Rivera's rifle and smacked him across the face with it, knocking his gas mask off his face. Rivera fell to the floor, scurrying away from Bill and Zoey. "Jesus, don't bleed on me. Don't breathe on me. Please, don't! Jesus! Don't touch me!"

"I don't…" Zoey said, sounding confused. "I only hit him."

"You might have killed him," the doctor sighed. He opened the door that led to the hallway and addressed the guard on duty. "Rivera's down. Get him out of here."

The guard came in and pointed his rifle at Bill. The doctor once again intervened and rushed the guard away along with Rivera. When they were gone, the doctor turned to face Bill and Zoey and told them something that made their stomachs drop. "You're carriers…_Both_ of you. You don't seem to be showing any symptoms of the virus, but you're _still_ infected. You've been transmitting the virus all over Philadelphia."

"Oh, my God…" Zoey said in shock.

"So that's what it is?" Bill asked. "You're not here to help us; you're here to herd us."

The doctor nodded. "That's right. Need I remind you that the Army had many options and this was the humane one? There's no cure at the moment, but we're trying. As far as we can tell, the carrier gene runs on the father's side, which is why your father here is not one of the zombies out there."

"This isn't my father," Zoey said, almost mutely. When the reality of the doctor's words set in, Zoey covered her mouth and tears shattered from her eyes. She fell to her knees and Bill hugged her from behind, aware that Zoey's father just might have been immune to the virus and could have still been with her.

"They haven't killed you yet because of _me_," the doctor said, taking the surgical mask from his face, his messy blonde hair parting to the side. "They haven't killed _me_ yet because they want their cure. I don't think it's occurred to them that _we_ might be the future. Carriers."

_He__'__s __one __of __us?_ Bill asked himself.

The doctor continued. "I want you to help me escape. It's already not safe here. Some of the soldiers…They'll keep us alive as long as they think I can stop this. But when they figure out I can't…they're going to put us against a wall and shoot us."

_Bllleeaaauuuuoooouuuu! _

The sound of a blaring alarm rang throughout the building. The three Carriers looked at it in shock.

"We might already be too late," the doctor said. "Mora. Mora's coming."

"You're worried about _soldiers_ coming to kill us?" Zoey asked. "Whatever asshole is in charge of this place has just called _every_ zombie within a hundred mile radius! We need to get out of here, doc! _Now_! And we're going to need _guns_!"

The three carriers ran out of the room, panting and panicking. There was no resistance down the hallway, as the guard who was posted there might have brought Rivera to the Infirmary or his quarters.

"The storage area is down the hallway!" The doctor took point and searched every open doorway for any resistance. Luckily, the infected had not reached them by then. "Through here!"

_Dammit, Francis, Louis. Where the hell are you guys?_

Through another door and down a flight of stairs, the three could hear the sounds of gunfire and men shouting, as well as the thundering steps of what was definitely a tank. "Come on! Through here!" Down another hallway, panic still in their heart and throats, the doctor stopped short of a door and sighed a breath of relief. "All right, here we are. Take whatever you can grab."

When the doctor opened the storage area, they were greeted with the beaming smiles of Louis and Francis, who were wrist deep in jars of peanut butter, as well as two soldiers behind them, one short, one tall.

"Zoey! Bill!" Louis shouted with glee. "Oh, man, it is good to see you guys!"

"Sweet, Jesus, is that peanut butter?" Zoey inquired excitedly, grabbing Louis' jar from his hands and inhaling whatever she can eat.

"Heard you went to go see the doctor," Francis said, approaching Bill. "What's the prognosis? Still old?"

"Son, I'm almost glad to be hearing your horseshit again."

"Really? Uh…Kenny Rogers' balls called. They want their hair back from your face."

"All right, all right. Don't push it," Bill said, shaking his head and grinning. "Good to see you, Louis. What are we looking at here?"

Louis redirected Bill to a table that had a map on it. Pointing to it, he said, "Pretty well stocked. Mostly M16s and pistols. They kept your 1911's in here, too; they're right over there. Me and Annie were just talking about a way out of here. Annie, Jeff, this is Bill, and that's Zoey.

"Not a fan of peanut butter, Annie?" Francis asked.

"Not enough to take my mask off," she responded.

"Tell me about this way out of here," Bill said.

"Train depot in the east yard. Troop transport."

"Train depot?" Jeff interjected. "That's on the other side of the base."

"How far as we talking?" Bill asked. "Quarter mile?"

"Quarter mile of _solid_ infected. And whatever these new things are. It'd be _suicide_."

"Jeff, was it?" Bill asked. "Jeff, the four of us walked here from Philadelphia. I think we can make it across the yard." Bill took the time to walk over to the pistols and the M16s and got himself loaded. He kissed his 1911's; he thought he'd never see them again. Once he and the others were all set, they left the facility.

Bill addressed the Carriers, Jeff, and Annie once they were outside. "All right, new meat, listen up. It's a quarter mile to the train yard. When we get there, we're getting on the first train pointing _south_. You want to join us, that's your business. As for getting there: I don't care how much training you got. You stay close. You keep up. And you don't do shit 'til you see us four do it first. You fall behind. We _leave_ you behind. No bullshit. Am I clear?"

Nods all around. As they walked, Zoey caught up with Bill. "Hey," she said.

"Hey, kid."

"Didn't want to interrupt your tough guy speech back there, but…why south?"

"Been thinking of a way out of this. For the four of us. I'll fill you in when we get to the train, Zoey. Promise. Until then…I need you to trust me, okay?"

"Sure, Bill. By the way, I call bullshit. No way you're leaving the new meat behind."

"Watch me," Bill said, pressing on.

"What about us? You leaving us behind too?"

"No," Bill said, shaking his head. "We come back for our own." Bill entered a dark place in his mind; the only thing that mattered was the four of them making it to south to the Keys, which was the plan he was cooking. He didn't give a shit if the others made it or not, but he knew that he would sacrifice any of them to make sure that he and the other three make it.

"Guys…" Bill heard Louis said. "Maybe we should be dealing with this idiot pointing the gun at us?"

Bill turned and saw a soldier—a high ranking one according to his patch—pointing his M16 at Louis. "Your fault. This is all your fault."

"Why'd we stop?" Francis asked.

"Guy with a gun," Zoey responded coolly.

"So? I got a gun."

"Your fault," the soldier repeated, advancing on Louis. Louis, sweat beading off his forehead, looked around for some sort of help. It wasn't until Francis stepped up to the plate that Louis calmed himself.

"Um, hey. So, I'm a cop and I've been investigating whatever's been going on here, and, uh, well, it's Louis' fault."

"Louis?" The gunman asked. "Which of you is Louis?"

"Francis!" Louis yelled.

"Yes, that's right, my name's _Francis_! Thank you, _Louis_!" Under his breath, Francis addressed the others: "Okay, everybody but Louis get ready to run."

"All right, enough horseshit," Bill said, walking right up to the gunman and punching him square in the jaw, knocking him down to the ground. "Haul ass, people!"

The gunman scrambled and grabbed his 9mm. "Louis…Louis…" He aimed his sight at Louis, and before he could pull the trigger, a giant hand grabbed his head from behind and ripped it clean off his shoulders. A helicopter in the distance was starting to make its ascent. Bill heard the doctor going on about trying to flag it down until the Tank threw a car through the helicopter, blowing it up.

The explosion caused Annie and Jeff to lose their equilibrium, shooting in Louis' direction, who took cover behind a jeep, the zips of bullets passing just above him. He closed his eyes until the firing stopped, and when he opened them, he saw that the jeep was leaking gasoline.

"He's throwing the road at us!" Annie cried.

"Yeah, they'll do that," Zoey said calmly.

Bill looked over and saw that Louis jumped into the jeep that he was covering by and gunned it. _Where __the __hell __are __you __going, __Louis? __Is __he __ditching __us?__We __don__'__t __have __time __to __be __dealing __with __this __giant __asshole._

Bill saw Louis make a sharp 180 degree turn and came speeding toward the Tank. It was then he saw the trail of fluid the jeep left behind.

"Bill, why is Louis doing the stupidest thing I've ever seen?"

"Gas," Bill answered. "He's leaking gas."

Louis jumped out of the jeep, which barreled into the Tank. Bill took a careful shot at the leaking fluid and saw the Tank explode along with the jeep. Good news: the Tank was now dead. Bad news: No doubt the carriers who were in the vicinity heard the explosion.

"Jesus Christ, son," Bill said, helping Louis up. Louis laughed and pointed to the train tracks, which was nearby. Everything seemed to be working out well for the Carriers and soldiers thus far.

They pressed on until Annie and Jeff broke off from the group and ran toward a flashing lighthouse in the distance. "There's the holdout point. We'd better join up," Annie said.

"Are you sure? You can come with us!" Zoey shouted.

"Nah. We've got heavy artillery. A choke point. We'll fight this wave off and then head to Echo."

"Annie…they never stop coming."

"Zoey, we can't go with you guys. You know that. These gas masks…"

"I know. Good luck, guys."

_Wasting __time __to __deal __with __bullshit_, Bill thought sullenly, taking point. "Train, people! Louis! You still have those pipes?"

"Damn right I do!"

"Throw them! _All_ of them!"

Louis did as he was instructing, lighting three pipe bombs and throwing them all in different directions, the dozens of infected behind them each following the pipe bomb that beckoned them. Bill felt the burning sensation in his chest. He filed into the train, followed by Francis and Louis. The three men immediately ran into the conductor's station and Bill started the train with the simple push of a button.

The train started going slowly enough, Zoey jumping onto the open train compartment door. Zoey spun and saw the doctor was desperately trying to make it to the open door, mere feet away from Zoey. Zoey could tell that the doctor was losing his breath; he was getting slower.

"Bill! Slow down!" Zoey commanded, trying to reach her hand out to the doctor. "Damn it, Bill! Slow down!"

From out of nowhere, a carrier tackled the doctor, knocking the wind out of him. When he got up, a Smoker's tongue wrapped itself around his neck as a group of infected topple on top of him, a Hunter ripping his abdomen open with its razor-sharp claws.

In the distance, Zoey could see that the choke point was being overrun. "Bill, they're getting slaughtered out there! Stop the train! Bill? Stop the—"

Bill forcefully grabbed her from the open compartment door and pulled her inside. "Zoey. We're not stopping this train."

"What? Are you _kidding_? We already lost the doc because you couldn't _wait_ five minutes! Bill, we do this _all_ the time! It's what we _do_!"

"No," Bill said, turning around. "We look after our own."

Bill could feel Zoey's eyes burning through his back. "Bill," she said forcefully. "_Stop_. _The_. _Train_." When she saw that Bill wasn't budging or responded, she repeated, "Bill! Stop the damn train!"

All Bill could do was close his eyes and lower his head, grasping the silver locket around his neck wondering what Beatrice would think if she saw him now.

_{Break}_

_The doctor needed to die. Annie and Jeff needed to die. They all needed to die. They needed to die so we could live. It's all about survival, and I got what I wanted in the end: we survived, came out on top, the four of us are safe. But feeling the way Zoey must've been looking at me shattered my soul. Didn't I go out of my way to save her, sacrificing Beatrice along the way? Didn't I go out of my way to save Louis, sacrificing our safety even though I could have left him to die? What's happening to me? Am I losing sight of everything I once held dear? Or is it everyone else that has lost focus and gone soft? If I am to learn a lesson from the events that have transpired up to today, survival was based on one thing: sacrifice._

_- Sergeant William Overbeck, United States Army (Ret.)_


	14. The Sacrifice

XIV

The Sacrifice

Sweat beaded down his forehead, the exhaustion evident in his rapid breathing. But Bill Overbeck wouldn't give up...he _couldn't_ give up, not while the others depended on him. They looked so far away now, like ants on an elevated hill, watching as the gladiators below participated in their violent games.

_Too many_, Bill thought, the second Tank succumbing to his onslaught, another taking its place amongst the infected waiting to get to him. _There's just too fucking many._

The others did what they could from their vantage point, Zoey taking pot shots at infected that got too close to comfort or those who were coming around Bill's flank. He was surrounded in the best sense of the word, wading through a pool of blood and flesh to push a button and get the others to safety. With the machine within reach, just an arm's length away, Bill fired desperately through the bodies of the infected that crowded in front of it, his M16 running dry as he did. He shot a quick look back to see how his six looked for the run back.

_Somebody must've moved that bridge since I looked last because it looks a million miles away. No. Don't think like that. You can still make it back. You can still make it-_

He felt a strong tug on his shirt. He turned to find a massive fist crashing into his ribcage, sending him to the floor before the hit even registered. Bones cracked like splintered wood, the fire escaping his lungs, the blood pouring from his mouth. The agony was too much to bear; he was unable to lift his head at that moment, let alone stand.

Bill coughed once before the massive fist found him again, lifting him into the air, the button still within reach. _I can still make it_, Bill said, looking at the behemoth before him. It was a monstrosity of decay and muscle, the woman it once was no longer evident save for the long wisps of hair that clung to its scalp.

Losing consciousness, the button still within reach, his assault rifle on the ground below him, Bill felt the spit and phlegm of the beast upon his face as it roared at him. _Dammit, old man, think! Just think!_

_{break}_

Several hours earlier, Bill overheard Zoey trying to stir Francis from his sleep, the latter still entranced within his dream, excited about women in bikinis and being on a tropical island. Zoey had barely spoken to Bill since their awkward argument earlier that day, and Bill was starting to wonder when the girl would finally speak with him. She had to know the reason why he chose to act the way he did. As he placed his Bowie knife in his shirt pocket, he began cleaning his 1911's. Zoey, having finally given up trying to wake Francis, turned to Bill and said, "Just because he's an idiot doesn't mean you're off the hook, Bill."

Bill sighed deeply, wanting to reply to her sudden outburst. When he attempted to, she cut him off. "The Florida Keys, Bill? Damn it, I _trusted_ you! We let a _doctor_ die, you asshole. We let soldiers die! And for what? So we can run and _hide_ on an island somewhere?"

Silence filled the train car. Bill shook his head, not losing focus on the work before him. Zoey sat just beside him, her elbows on her knees, shaking her head as well. "Bill, we know there's more carriers out there; people like us. We could find them and fight back, you know?"

"Zoey, we've been fighting since we set out from Philly. We shot our way through hell and back to get to that safe zone. We almost _died_ ten times over. We got _lucky_. And they locked us up and tried to kill us." Bill sighed deeply. "We _tried_ it your way, kid."

Bill raised his head, letting it rest on the cool metal of the train, imagining what it'd be like to finally escape this madness and find some small measure of peace. "The Keys," he continued, "it's close enough to get from here. It's miles off the mainland. Full of inhabitable islands. Good weather all year round. No more army. No more jails. No more _zombies_."

Bill could see that his rationalization wasn't getting through to Zoey. He reassuringly nodded to himself and said, "I know it hurts, kid, but we can't save _everybody_. We gotta look out for our own or we'll die. That's as simple as I can make it, kiddo; I don't want any of us to die out there, not while I have a say in it."

"I'm not sad because we can't save everyone, Bill, I'm angry because I want my world back. Half the time I think you're enjoying this, like it's the war you've been waiting for. I _hate_ this, Bill. But I'm willing to die if it means fighting back, if it means finding people like us that can make a difference and wiping these fuckers from the face of the earth. And you want to go _hide_ on some island? Who else have you left behind, Bill? Who else are you going to leave behind?"

Bill's mind drifted to Beatrice, how he had sacrificed her so he could save Zoey. He ground his teeth, his hand clenching the silver heart locket around his neck until his knuckles turned white.

"I, uh, never thought I'd say this," said a voice from across the room-Francis'-who had finally woken, "but I'm going to go hang out with Louis."

"I'll come with you," Zoey said, following Francis from the train car, leaving Bill alone to his thoughts.

When they left the train car and found themselves in a town Bill had said he visited earlier-before the outbreak-Bill took point with Louis while Zoey and Francis covered their rear. Bill could almost make out the conversation the two behind him were having, but thought it best not to pry in the business of others; people still needed their space, to blow off steam, and if this was Zoey's way of coping before she recollected herself, then so be it.

Walking along the coastline, slaughtering the occasional infected in their path, Louis sprinted onto a yacht he had found, waving for the others.

"No way!" Zoey said, the smile on her face the first since their supposed rescue from that farmhouse.

_Too big_, Bill thought. "Louis, I thought we agreed on a sailb-"

"Enough with the sailboat; I hate walkin'," Francis said. "If we gotta stop somewhere for gas, I'll go fetch it."

Before Bill came up with a reply, Louis' screams cut him off. "Help! Bill! Francis!" he cried, clinging to the deck of the yacht.

"Jesus, Louis, you fell two feet," Francis sighed. "Suck it up."

"Something's pulling me down!"

"It's called "gravity", Louis! It pulls everything down!"

By the time they had reached him, Louis pulled himself out of the compartment, panting as he did, the blood running from his leg. The gash looked terrible, deep and pulsating. It took one look from Louis for Bill to get the message. "This ain't our, boat," he said. "Everybody, get a Molotov ready and wait until I get to you. Burn it down."

As they threw their own respective Molotovs, Louis, now being helped by Bill, limped along with the others, feeling the heat of the flames coming from the yacht.

"So," Francis said, walking beside Louis and poking him with the butt of his shotgun, "What was it? A Witch? I'll bet it was a Witch. I know my Witch attacks, and that was a Witch attack. It was a Witch, right?"

"Somethin' like that," Louis replied simply.

The scenery of the marina was beautiful; you could tell many people had once come here to get away from the problems of life, which, coincidentally, they were doing as well. As they continued their walk, the Survivors found another boat docked not too far from a bridge that was much too low to sail under.

Bill signaled to the others to board, scolding the banter between Louis and Francis, as the latter suggested using his leg as Witch bait, hoping it would stir them out. "Cover me, I'll check it out," Bill said, descending the bloodstained wooden steps. As he emerged into a tiny lantern-lighted room, he noticed that it was stocked with provisions and weapons, enough for them to avoid any worry for quite some time. The only disconcerting thing in the room was dead civilian within, a pistol still clenched within his hand, his insides torn out. "Kids...I think we found our ticket off the mainland."

"Man! Look at all this _stuff_!" Louis exclaimed with glee. "Who'd leave all this behind?"

"Someone who meant to come back," Bill answered plainly. He looked to the bridge before him, a mechanical bridge that can be lowered with the use of a lever that accompanied its controls. "The bridge is down. Bet they left to raise it."

"I bet that makes a lot of noise going up," Zoey shuddered. "God. They must have called every zombie in the city."

"And now that's what we're gonna do, huh?" Francis watched Bill nod. "Of course we are. It sounded really stupid, so that's how I knew we were gonna do it."

Back in the provisions room, Bill and the others took little time to grab some ammunition before setting out. "We make this quick," Bill said. "We've come too far to get killed now. Louis-you stay with the boat."

"Whoa, are you kiddin' me?" Louis objected.

"Your leg's all busted, son. We don't have a lot of options here. We'll raise the bridge and come back for you."

"Bill...you see that guy?" Louis asked, pointing to the corpse in the room. "_He_ stayed behind to watch the boat."

Logic knocked some sense into Bill's brain at that moment. "Good point," he agreed, leading the others towards the bridge, which wasn't too far from the boat. For an instant, Bill even pitied the others who had commandeered this boat before them. So close, he thought grimly. They met little resistance on the bridge. Bill, Louis, and Zoey acting as fire team while Louis ordered Francis to climb the ladder and raise the bridge, the latter taking exception to the command.

"We'll see who's orderin' who on the island. Me. Givin' lots of orders. You: 'That was a great order, Francis.' 'Louis was dead weight after all.' 'You're so goddamn smart. I should read a shit-tonna books so I can keep up with how goddamn smart-'"

When Francis pressed the button and didn't get a response, he cursed. Loudly. "Bill! Nothin's happening!"

"Doesn't that just fucking figure," Bill answered. "New plan! Francis, you stay with Louis! Zoey, with me!"

The pair sprinted ahead, Zoey blowing the head off a Hunter that was slyly crawling close to Bill. Bill shot an infected in the abdomen and watched as its small intestines began seeping through the wound before he finished it off with a pot shot to the neck. Now that he had Zoey alone, Bill thought it was a perfect time to try to quench this aggression between the two.

"Look, kid, I, uh...know we haven't been-"

"Forget it," she cut him off. "The boat's the plan now and I'm here. Let's get this done with."

As they cleared the infected from the front of the generator, Bill heard the disappointment from Zoey's voice as she commented on the age and shape of the generator. Bill covered her as she attempted to lift the generator. Once righted, Zoey pressed the button on the generator and heard it thrumming to life. "Yes!" she exclaimed. "The generator's a little shaky, but we're in business, Bill!"

"Good. Let's get to that island in the Keys..." He heard the wailing sink into the night, the sound of countless infected no doubt making their way to them, as well as the roar of a Tank that was nearby. So I never have to hear that goddamn sound again.

"Francis! Put up the bridge!" Zoey screamed, the pair racing back to the bridge.

"It's on, it's on! Get up here! We ain't seen a safe house in a real long time, so don't make me waste the last of my ammo coverin' your slow asses!"

Bill helped Louis up to his feet and onto the ladder as the bridge slowly started to rise. He breathed a sigh of relief when the four were safe from the oncoming horde.

_Kulunkkulunkkulunk! _

"Wow, I knew it was gonna be loud," Zoey said, "but I didn't know it was gonna be this goddamn loud!"

"Don't worry," Louis said, reassuring the group. "We'll be too high up before the horde reaches us. We're good!"

_Kulunkkulunkkulunk!_

"We keep quiet? They'll probably just hang around til-"

_Kulunkkulunkkulunk-ccreeeaakkk!_

The bridge suddenly stopped ascending, leaving the Survivors high and dry, the cries and shouts of the infected below them filling the cool night's air.

"I _knew_ this would happen!" Zoey cried. "I _hate_ that generator!"

"And now four tanks are making their way to us. Thanks, Louis."

"What! What the hell did I do, Francis?"

"Optimism. You jinxed us."

Louis put his hands against the handrail, running a hand across his smooth, bald head. "Guys, I have a _bad_ feeling about this."

"What?" Francis said with shock. "Louis, we've been through far worse than this. This-is _nothing_."

"You should be the one that's sad, Francis. If the world righted itself, I was gonna give your ass a job." Louis smiled despite himself, trying to muster all the courage he could.

"Shut up with that kind of talk," Zoey said, teary-eyed. "We've got some ammo left. All we have to do is... We... _Shit_! We've come too far! It can't end like this!"

"I love you, Zoey," Louis continued. "I love all you guys. Listen, I want you to kill me before they tear me apart. Francis, I'll give you the honor."

"Bullshit!"Bill shouted. "I won't have it!"

"The doc's dead, Bill; there isn't anyone else who can patch my leg up or make me a splint or a cast. I'm as good as dead anyway. I'd only slow the lot of you down in the long run. It makes sense for me to go."

"I won't let you do it, Louis," Bill insisted.

Francis tugged on Bill's arm forcefully. "Lou's got a point, Bill; we're not going to be able to patch him up. If we keep him with us, we may be stuck up here for awhile 'til his leg heals up, if it ever will. No offense there, Lou."

"Speaking your mind, Francis," Louis agreed. "No shame in using something you never did before."

Francis and Louis tried to force a smile, but they knew the circumstances in which they faced. They knew the cards that were dealt in their hands. A real crap-shoot.

Bill tapped Louis on the shoulder lightly and tapped Francis on the shoulder forcefully. He pulled out both of his .45 pistols, as well as his journal, and held them out. "I'm going."

"Old man, what are you doing?" Francis asked. "Don't be stupid! You know you're the one who really needs to be one of the three. You aren't going."

Bill shook his head. "Who said I'm gonna die? I'm gonna need you guys to cover me while I get to the generator. I need you all to be on your game with this; I may have a whole lot of company on both sides of me when I get back. …And incase I don't, I want you to know that I've _lived_. I've lost. And I'll be damned if I have one of you guys sacrifices yourselves while an old man like me saves himself. If I don't make it back, I need you guys to get to the Keys, start fresh, and live."

"Bill, you can't do this. Use your head." Bill was shocked to hear Louis say this; he has really matured as a soldier since he first met him as a scared civilian in that warehouse building.

"You've come a long way," Bill smiled. "You've made me proud."

Louis bit his lip, his eyes getting glassy; he knew that there was no way to convince Bill to stay behind with the others. Once he got something stuck in his head, he went with it, and he never looked back.

Bill nodded to Zoey and Francis. "Make sure you get him to the boat safely."

Zoey, the tough girl who's more than pulled her weight since their first meeting, couldn't stop the tears that fell from her eyes. "You can't do this," she said. "You can't make a choice like this without thinking it through. It isn't fair, Bill."

Bill placed his hand delicately against her cheek and rubbed some of the tears from her eyes. "I wish we could've met before all this happened," he said, his voice cracking. "Maybe then my boy could've been with someone as beautiful and strong as you. You know, after all this time, it wasn't until now that I realize I have a beautiful daughter as well a son. I'm sorry for the rift that came between us; I did everything in my power to keep you safe. I want you to remember that. You'll survive this, Zoey."

Zoey rushed forward and grabbed Bill and sobbed on his shoulder. He pat her hair softly and held out his .45 pistols and journal to Francis once more, mouthing, "Take this."

Francis, still shaking his head, reluctantly took it. "You sure? I can come with you ,you know?" he asked.

Bill shook his head, not answering. When Zoey let go of Bill, she walked over to Louis and readied her rifle, aiming her sight at the advancing Tanks. Zoey turned to look at Bill for what she hoped wouldn't be the last time.

"Keep them safe," Bill whispered to Francis. "Keep them alive. If there's anybody who can do it, it's you, Francis. Now I know we've had our differences in the past, son, but—"

Francis shook his head and holstered both .45 pistols and placed Bill's journal in his back pocket. "You don't need to say anything else. I hate goodbyes." Francis readied his shotgun and took a vantage point closest to where the infected were coming from. "You heard the man! Cover him!"

Bill took one massive leap from the platform, rolled on his shoulder, and began firing at anything in sight, tearing through the wall of flesh before him. The sound of gunshots behind him gave him reassurance; his squad would not allow anything to harm him. _Almost there. Do it, you useless old bastard. Get to work. Get them out of here. Get them safe. Don't let her down._

_{break}_

_Think!_ Bill thought, bringing himself to the present. With his rifle out of reach and Francis in possession of his 1911's, Bill stared at the Tank knowing there was nothing he could do. He felt like a rag doll, his clothes weighing nothing, save for the item in his right shirt pocket, which pulled his shirt down. _The knife! You had the knife the whole time, you old idiot!_

Bill, with will alone guiding his hand, weakly grabbed the hilt of the Bowie knife in his shirt pocket and jabbed the knife into the mouth of the Tank, pulling up as far as he could. The Tank was beginning to squeeze him to death. Once the knife found the sweet soft spot of its brain, the Tank, ready to grab its new wound, threw Bill against the generator, his body slamming against it and crumbling beneath it.

"Just…die. You…son of a bitch."

The Tank roared and flailed about, trying to grab the knife out of its brain. Its hands were too large, the wound was too deep, and after a few seconds, the Tank fell to its knees and had a few spasms before it stopped completely.

Bill coughed and sat up, looking at the building parallel to where he was. He saw Francis mouthing something to him, but couldn't hear him as there was a constant ringing in his ears. He reached up and just barely managed to push the button. When he pushed it, he saw Francis look to his left, signaling that the bridge was ascending again.

His job was done.

Bill knew that being out in the open was a dangerous thing. He grabbed his assault rifle and willed his body to drag itself across the open area, passing over some bodies of the infected he killed. He noticed that his blood was leaving a trail as his body dragged on.

_Shit_, he thought, looking forward, squirming for that little extra boost to get into the generator room for some cover. _Just a little further, Overbeck. Just a little further._

He sighed when he made it to the generator room and noticed that there were no infected inside. He crawled for every inch his body would give him and put his back to the generator. Placing the assault rifle in his lap, Bill reached in his shirt pocket for his crumpled box of cigarettes. Thumbing through them, he saw that there was one cigarette that was still left whole. He took it out delicately and placed it between his lips.

Bill fumbled through his left shirt pocket and cursed that he didn't have a lighter with him at that moment. He looked outside the room and noticed that his brass lighter was glimmering in the street light; it must have fallen out of his pocket as he made his way into the generator room.

"William, what are you doing, sweetheart?"

Bill raised his head and looked forward with one good eye; the other was covered in blood. What he saw before him made his heart stop: a beautiful woman, more beautiful than he had ever seen, was standing before him, smiling softly at him, her lips a shade of pink.

"Beatrice?"Bill called out. He slowly shook his head. "No…that can't be… You _died_."

Beatrice kept her smile and pointed at the cigarette in Bill's mouth. "What did I tell you about those things, William? They're bad for you. Have you been bad since I've been gone?"

Bill smiled weakly and nodded his head slowly, removing the cigarette from his mouth. "'Fraid so, hon. I'm sorry I haven't been listening to you."

"It's all right, William," Beatrice said, her piercing blue eyes seeing through his body and soothing his soul. "You know, you don't need to hang on any longer. You can come with me if you'd like."

Bill shook his head, fighting the tears that were forming in his eyes, the blood seeping into his right eye and stinging it. He knew that he couldn't let go, not at that moment.

"I…_can't_…" Bill breathed, gasping for air. "I can't now, not just yet, not while there's so much to do…"

Beatrice got on her knees before him and stroked his hair softly, placing her cool hand behind his neck. Bill could smell the perfume she had on; the smell of lilacs, his favorite. She had always worn it on a special occasion.

Bill wondered just what was so special about this moment.

"You're warm," Beatrice said, giggling. "You were always warm. Remember when I used to put my feet on your chest when I was freezing? I was always so cold."

Bill smiled, blood escaping his lips. His body was broken; he could feel the agony in his body slowly going to numbness. "Always cold," he said, laughing, hacking up more blood. "Always kept me around to keep you warm."

Beatrice's pain was seen through her face; her brow frowned, as did her smile. She looked as if her blue eyes would shatter and tears would fall upon his leg. He watched her grab his hand, bring it to her lips, and kissed it softly. "You need to let go, William."

Bill shook his head once again, more quickly this time. "The boy… My boy… Our boy… I need to find him. I need to…keep him safe."

Beatrice smiled once again, possibly remembering the boy she had long forgotten. "He is our son, William. He's got your spirit, your fighting spirit. He's a survivor. You know you don't need to worry about him."

Deep down, Bill knew that this was what he really felt. He had trained his boy growing up like one of his soldiers, in case something was to happen in America. Like it was now. He hoped that the tears and blood his son shed were being put to good use somewhere.

"I see you've taken care of it," Beatrice said, pointing to the locket hanging around Bill's neck. "I'm glad you had me with you this whole time."

"That's…what's been…keeping me going."

Bill watched Beatrice caress his hand and then she spoke. "I just don't want to be alone anymore, William. I miss having you with me. I miss holding you, kissing you, your smiles, your sighs, your laugh…everything."

"Beatrice…"

Bill tried to lift his weapon; the stock was empty. There were no more bullets, there was no more ammunition, there was no more need to fight. Irony took him by surprise: a soldier with no weapon to fight with, in a moment of peace, a moment of love. He took his hand from Beatrice and placed both hands on his assault rifle.

"All right," he said, nodding his head.

"What?"

"All right," he repeated, "I'll come with you… I'm so sorry…it took me so long…"

Bill raised his head and saw his beautiful wife once more, his beautiful bride, the beautiful mother of their beautiful son. He saw her stand and walk toward the door, looking back at him, holding her hand out for him to take. Bill, the blood pooling from his broken body, felt more numbness take over. Bill thought of Beatrice waiting for him when he went off to war. He thought of the men he served with who were waiting for their sergeant to come home. He thought of the day his son was brought into this world.

"…I love you…" Bill whispered out loud, thinking of his son, tears falling from his eyes. _Live_…

He thought of his little soldier and how he had tried so hard to make his daddy proud, the times he would scrape his knee and made it seem like nothing was wrong even though he wanted nothing more than to cry. He remembered the smiles on Christmas mornings and when Bill taught him how to ride a bike; all of it came flooding back to him at that moment.

He used the remaining strength in his body to pull his lips apart and smiled. His head drooped a bit, and he took a long, deep breath, letting it out into a relieved sigh.

And his chest never rose again.

_{break}_

Elsewhere, on top of the building parallel from the generator, Francis saw a trail of blood leading from the generator to the generator room, a trail of bullet shells pooled on top of it, a dead Tank and countless bodies of infected littering the areas. "Bill!" he called out. "Bill! Can you hear me? Old man, can you hear me? Bill! Fuck this, I'm going to get him!"

Zoey grabbed Francis' arm forcefully, stopping his action. "He's gone, Francis!"

"You don't know that!" Francis shouted. "Bill's the toughest old geezer I've ever known and he's down there and he needs us! It'll take a lot more than that to stop him. I know it!"

"If you go down there, then everything Bill had just done would have been for nothing. Don't make me say it again, Francis!" Zoey's eyes glistened, shaking her head and grabbing hold of Francis. "He's gone, Francis… _He's gone_…"

Francis brushed the back of Zoey's hair and closed his eyes, Zoey's sobs engrained into his soul. _God damn it_, he thought, unsure as to what he had to do.

Louis felt his heart drop into his stomach. He didn't feel the pain in his leg anymore; he stood on both of his legs, without a splint, and called out Bill's name. Louis ran his hands over his smooth forehead and placed them on top of his head."This can't be happening! Oh, God, this can't be happening! Bill!"

"We'll wait for the infected to scatter and then make our way to the boat," Zoey said. "Keep an eye out for Smokers and we'll be fine. We look after our own."

Francis looked away, making sure Louis or Zoey wasn't watching him. The shotgun in his hand suddenly became heavy, and Bill's .45s clipped to his waist felt like they weighed a hundred pounds each. He had Bill's journal in his back pocket; he figured they'd take a look at it when they were ready to. The night was brisk and the moon full, the sounds of howling having died down since the initial attack.

_Was it worth it, old man? Was saving us worth never seeing your boy again, Bill?_

Though he would never admit what he was doing at that moment—not even to himself—Francis wiped the tears that fell from his eyes.

_{break}_

_Watching the world burn and crumble beneath me, I wondered what was to become with all of this. What was there to look forward to? Death? Contempt that we had survived while so many others died? Whichever the answer, I wish not to know. I only know that it is a cruel joke that an old man like me survived while so many women and children have perished. But that's all passed us now._

_If by chance you happen upon this journal, I'm afraid my story has come to its end, and it is my hope that the others who had journeyed with me are still safe and have found a small measure of peace they fought so hard to attain. At first, we all had our differences, our likes, our dislikes, and everything in-between. But we became much more than acquaintances during our travels. We became _family_. We _trust_ each other. We look after our own. Francis was right; we live for today and tomorrow…_

…_And whatever days may come after that._

_- Sergeant William Overbeck, United Stated Army (Ret.)_


	15. Epilogue

Epilogue

The blaring alarm in the supermarket could be heard blocks away, he was sure. Looking around at all the carnage around him, Marcus wondered why he had volunteered with four bigger idiots to retrieve a six-pack of cola in exchange for guns and passage through the blockade; he was safer on the roof with that lunatic.

One of the others, the guy who was around his age, smacked a crowbar into the skull of one of the infected, placing the six-pack on the ground before taking out his AK47 and firing at the horde making their way toward him.

By the time Marcus realized the severity of the attack, he was tackled to the ground by an infected that took him by surprise. It tumbled on top of him, its arms flailing about, ready to tear him to shreds. He grit his teeth, looking at the Beretta that was just out of his reach, and cursed as loudly as he could.

The infected had been a girl once, and pretty; the infection must've set in recently, her skin and complexion mostly intact save for the yellow pupils and her angry, bloodstained teeth.

_Jesus, what do I do now?_ he thought, looking around for some other alternative. The other four were busy dealing with their own problems, as they probably shut themselves out to the world once they focused on a fight. Marcus looked up at the girl, smacking her arm at his side, and hooked his thumb into the infected's eye socket, digging as deeply as he could. Blood flowed down his thumb and onto his palm, and he screamed loudly.

Eventually, the infected relented a bit, giving Marcus the edge to overpower it. He turned it over, smashing its skull into the ceramic tile several times before nothing was left save for broken bone and brain matter.

And just like that, it was over.

The others took a deep breath to assess the situation, making sure no other infected were lingering or making their way to them. Marcus walked over to his Beretta and picked it up, sighing deeply. He looked at his forearm, the bite wound still fresh; he had received it days after the initial outbreak arrived when he was still naïve about the situation.

And he didn't become one of them. At least, not yet.

The blood on Marcus' hands was starting to make him cringe. He couldn't believe that he could be so capable of killing another human being with his bare hands, and the realization of it made it all the more horrifying. But with the way things were, he knew he'd have to get used to the idea of acting like an animal. His father told him stories of the war, how churchgoing men became monsters before his very eyes, devouring their prey upon contact. He used to tell him of the nights where he'd scream and think one of his men was above him, about to devour his very soul.

A heavy, dark-skinned man walked over to him and eyed him down, spitting on the ground. "You all right, Marcus?" he asked, looking at the infected with a bashed-in skull and a remaining eye that will forever be staring into nothing. "We need to get out of here, deliver this cola, and move on. You're still coming with us, right?"

Marcus nodded and wiped his hands on his chest, the blood staining his white shirt brown. "You know, my dad used to tell me stories about things he used to have to deal with in war, how the dead still talk to him sometimes. You ever feel like that, Coach?"

"The dead are talking to me right now, boy. They're telling me that if I don't get my ass moving I'm gonna be dinner by high noon. But for what it's worth, your daddy's a very smart man, taught you good. Maybe that's why you survived so long. Or maybe it's because you're immune like us. We'll never know."

Marcus removed the clip from the Beretta and slammed it home. "Yeah," he nodded. "Savannah's gone to hell; we need to leave. I just hope my mom and dad are safe…wherever they are."

"I'm sure they are, especially if they got your daddy lookin' after them. What'd you say his name was again?"

"His name's William. But everybody calls him Bill."

_Fin_

_{break}_

Author's Note: After 3+ years, this story is now complete. Thank you all for continuing to support this story even when several months passed without an update; you're the glue that kept this project going, and I'm happy that so many of you enjoyed reading it. I wanted to incorporate Bill's son in the story somehow; after all, he mentions him several times throughout the story without ever revealing his name, and I thought a fun twist would be that he was with the other Survivors from L4D2 (Hint: Guess what they'd find at the end of The Sacrifice campaign?).

I love you all, my faithful readers! Please comment to keep this story relevant and to let me know what you thought about the ending and the story in general. Take care and God Bless.

- Wild


End file.
